


No-One But You

by intouchwithhumanity



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Closeted Character, Dating, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reddie, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Secret Relationship, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris is a Good Friend, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-10-24 16:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intouchwithhumanity/pseuds/intouchwithhumanity
Summary: In which Eddie and Richie get to have the epic love story they deserve.Chapter 1: Early teenage Reddie (around the timeline of the first movie and a little after, pining/fluff)Chapter 2: High-school Reddie (fluff with a bit of angst) - no smut but I have written separate smut for thisChapter 3: Reddie in NYC (pining/angst)Chapter 4: Repressed 40 year old Reddie (roughly during the timeline of the second movie, pining/fluff/angst)Chapter 5: The end of the story (no spoilers!)





	1. Me Too

**Author's Note:**

> I use a lot of the canon from the book and the movies, but obviously they're slightly inconsistent with one another.

Richie pedalled hard to fight the incline of the tarmac. He called over his shoulder to the boy behind him, ‘Hurry the fuck up, Eduardo, ándale.’

Huffing, sweat beading on his brow, Eddie spat back, ‘Fuck you, dude. I have asthma.’

‘Still slow. Still short,’ Richie laughed, his hair rippling in the wind.

‘What’s short got to do with it?’ Eddie scoffed, offended.

‘Nothing, just any excuse to bring it up.’ Richie glanced over his shoulder again to check Eddie was following him as he made the turning to cross over the kissing bridge.

‘You’re the fucking worst,’ Eddie retorted, pedalling harder to try and catch up with Richie. His little legs cycled rapidly.

‘You love me, Eds,’ Richie taunted, a great grin spreading across his face as he looked over at Eddie who was finally drawing up alongside him. 

Rolling his eyes, Eddie turned to Richie, ‘Don’t call me Eds.’ Distracted from the road, he didn’t see the idle rock in his pathway. His bike jolted as the wheel skittered. ‘Shit!’ Eddie yelled as he catapulted over the handlebars and juddered to the ground. He put his palms out to try and break his fall, but he managed to graze his elbows and knees. One knee smacked the kerb and sliced open, red oozing from the gash.

‘Fuck, Eddie, are you okay?’ Richie screeched to a halt and leapt off the seat. The bike clattered to the ground, back wheel still spinning.

‘Fuck, I’m bleeding. Oh, God.’ Eddie wrinkled his nose in disgust. He looked at his hands, at his legs, muck splattered over them. ‘There’s so much dirt in the cuts. I’m gonna get an infection.’ His breath quickened. ‘I’m gonna need a tetanus shot!’

‘Shut the fuck up, you’re not going to get an infection.’ Richie snorted, but he lowered himself down carefully beside Eddie to get a closer look at the damage and check he wasn’t seriously hurt.

Eddie scrambled for his fanny-pack. He hesitated, ‘Ugh, I don’t want to put my dirty hands in there. But I need my fucking inhaler.’

‘Relax, Eds, I got it.’ Richie said quickly, unzipping the bag and finding the blue object. He held it to Eddie’s face and he puffed at it.

‘Great, now I need to disinfect that because you’ve touched it,’ Eddie scowled, but stopped when he realised that Richie was offering him an antibacterial wipe for his hands. Seeing the dirt made his stomach turn. He glanced at his knee again and heaved. ‘Rich,’ Eddie began, timidly, ‘I need you to fix the cut.’

‘Ew, no,’ Richie blurted automatically. ‘I don’t want to touch your gross ass knee. Do it yourself, loser. Man the fuck up.’

‘Beep beep, Richie.’ Eddie said, pale. ‘Please.’

Richie saw that Eddie needed him. He never would have begged if he didn’t. ‘God, if you’re gonna be such a fucking baby about it,’ he said, but it came out with tenderness. He pulled out another wipe and started to clear the gravel and blood from Eddie’s leg, rubbing as gently as he could.

‘Fuck, that stings,’ Eddie seethed, flinching. 

‘Then hold still.’ Richie scolded, wrapping his other hand around Eddie’s ankle to steady his trembling leg. He tossed the wipe to the side and started to dab with a salve, then opened a plaster and smoothed it over the seeping wound. Satisfied with his handiwork, he hummed. ‘There. Good as new.’

Eddie grumbled, looking at Richie’s face which hang in profile. ‘Still hurts.’

‘God, you’re such a whiner,’ Richie rocked his head around and his eyes met Eddie’s. In a babied voice, he sarcastically asked, ‘Need me to kiss it better?’ He mocked leaning in, pursing his lips like a fish.

Eddie shoved him. ‘Fuck off.’ He stammered, then managed, ‘Do you have any idea how much bacteria is in the human mouth?’

‘Oh, God, you’re right.’ Richie gasped. ‘I guess that’s why everyone fucking dies as soon as someone kisses them.’ He pouted, looming over Eddie and making more exaggerated kissing noises, darting closer and closer to Eddie’s legs and arms, threatening.

‘Richie, stop it! Stop!’ Eddie squealed, slapping at him. His nose was wrinkled, his voice angry and loud, but then he laughed right as Richie’s lips finally made contact with his cheek. With a snarl, he drew the back of his hand to his cheek and wiped at the spot where Richie had kissed him. ‘You’re such an asshole.’

There was a moment when Richie’s face was solemn, almost quizzical, then the usual smile crashed down, and he joked, ‘That’s it man, I’ve infected you now. Guess you’re a goner.’

‘Fuck you, man. Seriously.’ Eddie said, pulling himself to his feet.

Richie stayed sat for a moment, watching Eddie walk away and pick up his bike. There was something tight and alien in his chest. He’d felt that before with Eddie, sometimes. But this was more intense, harder to ignore, something which had ignited when he’d pressed his lips to Eddie’s skin, a spark growing into a flame. It frightened him. He wasn’t sure if it was in a bad way, like when Bill’s brother Georgie had gone missing, or in a good way, like when he was on the rollercoaster at the Derry fair.

Eddie turned around. ‘Come on, we’re gonna be late.’

Richie scrambled to his feet, dusting his hands on his jeans. He wrenched his bike off the ground. ‘You will be, fucking slowpoke.’

They rode away.

\---

Eddie leapt up from the beanbag chair. He’d been staring at the clock. ‘That’s ten minutes, Richie,’ he announced, swaggering over to the hammock where Richie lay comfortably, skimming a comic book.

Richie didn’t look up. ‘I don’t see a sign.’

Eddie ripped the issue from his hands, forcing Richie to exclaim in protest and flash his eyes at him. ‘For the last fucking time: we don’t need a sign,’ he insisted.

‘I’m starting to think we should get a sign,’ Stan mumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes at Mike, who smirked.

Richie snatched back his comic.

‘Every f-f-fucking day.’ Bill sighed as Eddie inevitably climbs into the other end of the hammock with Richie, like he always does, squeezing his legs into the space Richie doesn’t admit that he creates for him.

‘Cue the foot in the face,’ Bev chuckled, lighting a cigarette.

Mike counted down, ‘Three, two, one.’

Richie’s glasses clattered to the floor. ‘Fuck you, Spaghetti.’

Eddie kept kicking and the hammock swayed precariously. ‘Wouldn’t happen if you could just respect the rules for fucking once.’ He began to jab his toes into Richie’s ribcage, which made him squirm uncontrollably.

‘Stop it, Eds. You’re gonna flip us both out of this thing again.’ Richie steadied himself by grabbing at Eddie’s foot, which also prevented it from tickling him.

‘Good, then you’re out and I can get back in by myself.’ He kicked his other leg and Richie grabbed for it. The hammock threatened to spill them both to the floor.

‘Don’t break it,’ Ben whimpered, scratching nervously underneath the elastic of his shower cap.

‘Didn’t break when I was fucking Eddie’s mom in it,’ Richie shrugged, struggling against the force of Eddie’s legs against his hands.

‘Watch it, Richie,’ Eddie warned.

‘And if it can take her fat ass,’ Richie snorted.

‘That’s it.’ Eddie clambered up to pummel at Richie’s stomach, his knees either side of Richie’s bony hips. ‘Beep beep, Richie.’

‘Fuck, stop, it was a joke. It was a joke!’ Richie grappled for Eddie’s arms and managed, with some effort, to restrain him once more, laughing at Eddie’s lowered eyelids and angry pink cheeks.

Eddie, his anger subsiding, felt suddenly awkward at the position they found themselves in, himself leaning over Richie, Richie’s hands wrapped around his wrists. He looked down at Richie’s smiling face, eyes seeming smaller now that they were unobstructed by his thick lenses, freckles breaking out over his nose. Eddie coughed and tore his hands away, shuffling backwards, cheeks still pink. Hurriedly, he fumbled for his comic. No longer smiling, Richie followed suit.

Eddie peeked over the top of the pages. Richie was peeking over his. Their eyes met momentarily, before Eddie hastily returned his gaze to the comic.

‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’ Eddie muttered. When Richie didn’t respond, he peeked over the comic again. Richie was reading his own. He wriggled, uncomfortable, then settled.

Richie was only pretending to read. He couldn’t without his glasses on, he could only make out blurry shapes and colours. He hoped no one could see his flushed face.

The losers chatted, and the afternoon relentlessly wore on. Sleepy, dizzied, Richie dozed off. His toes twitched as he dreamed.

Richie stirred when the hammock shifted its weight distribution. Then he felt something on his face. Instinctively he batted at it, his eyes fluttering open.

‘Eds, what are you doing?’ Richie asked, his voice husky.

Eddie was standing on the floor beside Richie. He poked at the bar across the bridge of Richie’s nose. ‘I was putting your glasses back on.’ He shuffled in his tube socks. ‘You might have stepped on them when you got up.’

Richie’s vision cleared as he blinked. The world surged in clarity, lenses back in front of his eyes. Eddie came into sharp focus; brown eyes, brown hair, olive skin. The shorts that were too short, the red fanny-pack. ‘Oh, right. Thanks.’ He craned his neck to look over Eddie’s shoulder. ‘Where is everyone?’

Quietly, Eddie admitted, ‘They left a while ago.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Richie groaned, but the question was sincere.

Eddie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I was comfy.’ He blushed then quickly added, ‘And when you’re asleep is the only time you fucking shut up.’ 

Richie shoved him, then he groaned, aching. ‘Ugh, come on then. Let’s get out of here. Help me up.’ Innocently, he held out his hand.

Eddie hesitated, then took it and hauled Richie out of the hammock. It was one thing when Richie had his hands on Eddie’s ankles or his wrists when they fought, or had his arm draped over Eddie’s shoulder as they walked around school, but it wasn’t often that he found his hand in Richie’s. His mouth dried, and his chest quivered. He considered that he might need his inhaler.

‘Uh, Eds, you can let go now.’ Richie said.

Eddie snatched his hand away and rolled his eyes before making his way over to the ladder to escape the hideout. As he climbed it occurred to him that Richie didn’t let go either.

\---

Richie tried to keep telling himself that they were just friends. The connection he felt with Eddie was platonic, because it had to be. They had just known each other for so long, spent so much time together. They did love each other, but only in the way that friends love each other.

Girls got to say it; he heard them all the time at school. Girls held hands, girls kissed each other and brushed each other’s hair and complimented each other. ‘I love you.’ ‘I love you too.’ That’s all it was, only boys didn’t get to do those things together. Boys hit each other, they teased each other, called each other names, competed and cussed and lied to each other. ‘I fucked your mom.’ ‘Fuck you.’

His heart twanged. That didn’t seem fair. Sure, it was fun to josh around and fight, and he loved the way that Eddie snorted when he laughed and how his cheeks flushed when he was angry, but he envied a little that girls didn’t have to have a reason to be near one another or be nice to each other. Those moments happened every day. Surely that made it easier to figure out who was a friend and who was more. Or perhaps it made it harder.

‘Hey, R-R-Richie. Are you r-r-ready to go?’ Bill hollered, Quicksilver skidding to a halt on the kerbside. Bev, Stan and Mike were on their bikes beside him.

‘Where’s Eddie?’ Richie asked automatically. Hastily, he added, ‘And Ben?’

‘They’re meeting us there,’ Stan said.

Richie started to pedal. Idly, the five meandered through the streets. Richie looked around at each of them.

He looked at Mike, his new friend. He didn’t feel the same way about Mike as he did Eddie, but that was probably because he hadn’t known him as long, hadn’t spent as much time with him.

He looked at Bill, who he had known forever. He saw Bill more like a brother than a friend. Sometimes an annoying, older brother, who always thought he knew better and was a better leader. Not that Richie would ever tell him so. Eddie wasn’t like a brother. Eddie was more like another limb.

He looked at Beverly, the only girl of the group. She was beautiful, confident, cool. He didn’t feel about her like he did about Eddie, but maybe that’s because she was Bill’s girl. He wasn’t allowed to look at Bev that way. That didn’t stop Ben, though.

He looked at Stan. What about Stan? He’d known Stan for as long as he could remember. They were thick as thieves, knew everything about each other. They joked with each other, he was good-looking, he knew how to take a joke but also knew when to take things seriously. He was smart and sensitive, perceptive and could be very brave.

Stan was a quintessential best friend. Yet, his heart didn’t stop when he saw Stan’s smile, his breath didn’t catch when Stan touched him. He didn’t think about every instance when Stan had showed him kindness or demanded his attention, he didn’t memorise every feature of Stan’s face. He didn’t think about what it would be like to kiss him. 

Outside the movie theatre, they chained up their bikes. Richie scanned for Eddie’s bike, but he couldn’t see it. They wandered inside. There was Eddie, already in the queue at the counter, staring up at the price list, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

‘Hey Eddie Spaghetti,’ Richie greeted, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. ‘Where’ve you been?’

Eddie rolled his eyes. ‘Mom dragged me to another doctor’s appointment.’

‘What’d you do? Stub your toe?’ Richie teased.

‘Fuck off,’ Eddie said, meeting Richie’s gaze. ‘Do you want ice cream or popcorn?’

Eddie was Richie’s best friend. He was the funniest, loudest, cutest, most irritating, most neurotic and most wonderful person he knew. He was his right-hand man, his partner in crime and his arch rival. But he was more than all those things too. Richie knew that he was ridiculously, irredeemably in love with him. His heart sank. That couldn’t be good.

‘I can’t decide.’ Eddie continued. ‘I prefer ice cream, but it comes in those big sharing tubs instead of a cone, so you have to double dip the spoons which is so fucking unsanitary, and it always melts into a soup before you can finish it. You pick.’

Richie badly wished that they could share the ice cream, but he didn’t want Eddie to have an asthma attack at the prospect. ‘Popcorn?’ Richie squeaked, the butterflies transfiguring into moths, dark and fuzzy. ‘I mean, it’ll last longer during the movie too.’

Eddie snickered, ‘Yeah, right. If you don’t eat it all in the first five fucking minutes.’ He ordered a large portion and paid without asking Richie for any money. ‘Oh, you don’t mind if we share, do you? It’s cheaper than buying two smalls. Just wash your hands first and don’t tell my mom.’

Richie gulped, ‘Fine. I’ll go wash up.’

Richie sauntered away, and Eddie watched him go, seeing how the curls bounced on his head. Tightly, he gripped the cardboard of the popcorn bucket and prayed that his sweat didn’t affect its structural integrity.

He looked up at the price list again and was grateful that Richie didn’t care about doing the math. Two smalls, one large. Same price. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it meant that they had to sit next to each other, and that was worth it.

‘Ready to go in?’ Ben asked. He was clutching his own large box of popcorn which Beverly was eagerly dipping into. Eddie looked at the way Ben was looking up at her, chubby cheeks glowing. Bill walked over, also carrying a large popcorn. He halted when he realised that Bev was already sharing with someone else.

‘Just waiting for Richie.’ Eddie jerked his head towards the loo. His brow furrowed as he looked at the three friends in front of him, the undeniable love triangle. He thought about the time that he’d bought an ice cream for Richie, only to see that Richie had already been bought one by Stan. His stomach twisted, and he looked guiltily at the box in his hands.

‘We can save you seats.’ Mike said, sidling up beside Bill and fishing into his popcorn bucket. Quickly, Stan grabbed a handful himself.

‘Oi, g-g-get your own!’ Bill protested at them both, which only prompted Stan and Mike to dive in again.

Richie returned. ‘Ready?’ he asked, striding over to Eddie and plucking a kernel. Eddie almost dropped the bucket.

The Losers club wandered inside and took their seats. Ben, Bev, Bill, Mike, Stan, Richie, Eddie. Once they’d sat down, Eddie lifted the armrest and wedged the popcorn as best he could between the seats. Their respective thighs held it tight. The lights went down, and the trailers began. Behind them, an older teenage couple wandered in on a date. As expected, Richie guzzled at the popcorn.

‘If you eat that quick, it’ll be gone before the movie even fucking starts.’ Eddie hissed.

‘Come on, I only had a few,’ Richie said, still chewing as he dove for more.

‘Stop,’ Eddie warned, batting his hands away. ‘I’ve not had any yet.’

‘I’m not stopping you,’ Richie challenged, throwing one of the pieces at him. It landed on the seat between Eddie’s legs.

‘Don’t fucking waste it, asshole.’ Eddie snapped, annoyed.

‘I’m not,’ Richie protested. ‘Fucking hell.’ He leaned over to pick up the piece of popcorn. Eddie’s legs froze in position. Richie’s hand swiped against his thigh as he drew the popcorn away, then threw it into the air to catch in his mouth.

‘That’s fucking disgusting,’ Eddie said, wrinkling his nose. ‘God knows what’s on these seats.’

‘Just ask your mom about my date with her last week.’ Richie said.

Eddie scoffed, ‘Fuck you.’

‘She did,’ Richie nodded smugly, shoulders jiggling up and down as he tried to not laugh too loudly at his own joke.

Eddie looked at him, with his ludicrously large glasses and terrible printed shirt. The curled hair that couldn’t be styled, the cheeky grin. Behind them, the couple on their date interlaced their hands and began to kiss. The thought invaded his mind before he could push it out. That was what he wanted to do. Except, it was Richie. He shouldn’t want to hold Richie’s hand. He shouldn’t want to kiss Richie.

He knew that it was unusual to want to spend so much time with Richie. He knew it was unusual to be so jealous of whomsoever was receiving Richie’s attention. He knew it was unusual how his blood ran hot whenever Richie teased him. But this feeling, this attraction, that had a name. A name he’d heard his mother use in a disgusted tone when she talked about new diseases.

Richie reached into the popcorn and took another handful. Eddie slapped his shoulder and the couple behind hushed at them. Leaning in so he could whisper, Richie chuckled, ‘Last one before it starts, Eds, I promise.’

‘Don’t call me Eds.’

‘You love me,’ Richie taunted.

_I do. _Eddie thought automatically. Then he started to panic. He couldn’t love Richie. He shouldn’t, wouldn’t. He fumbled for his fanny-pack.

‘You alright, Eds?’ Richie asked as Eddie took a puff from his inhaler.

Eddie nodded, but he didn’t feel alright. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said.

Throughout the movie, Eddie didn’t eat any of the popcorn. 

\---

Richie had rushed out of the arcade after Bowers had called him names, after he saw Bowers’ cousin give him that filthy look. He’d been chased by Paul Bunyan, chased by the clown, taunted. ‘I know your secret, your dirty little secret.’

Richie’s heart sunk. His secret. Eddie. His best friend. His first love. The boy he hadn’t seen since the Neibolt house, hadn’t seen since Eddie’s mum carted him off in her car. The look on her face was pure wrath. She’d never liked Richie at the best of times, but he was sure that she blamed him for Eddie’s broken arm.

‘At least Eddie is alive,’ Richie mumbled to himself. ‘No thanks to fucking Bill.’

He’d believed Eddie was going to die. Saw the pure horror on Eddie’s face and tried to take it away. ‘Look at me, Eddie,’ he’d screamed, prising his chin around. He didn’t want the last thing Eddie saw to be It. If Eddie was going to die in that house, then he’d die looking at Richie, with Richie right there in front of him.

Richie found himself at the kissing bridge. He traced the letters carved there by some unknown couple, hopelessly in love, unafraid of their love, kissing openly, proudly. His heart plunged, knowing he could never kiss Eddie like that here. Not even if he did have the guts to tell Eddie how he felt. That was the way it was in Derry.

But then, he had kissed Eddie here, he supposed. It wasn’t a romantic moment, they weren’t a couple, and it wasn’t even on the lips. On the cheek, and Eddie had laughed. But Richie had kissed him. And it might well be the only time he ever would. It was then, right as he’d pulled away, that he’d realised, truly realised, that he was smitten. That had to count for something. Maybe it could count for everything.

Richie fumbled in his pockets for his penknife. Carefully, watching over his shoulder and praying that nobody saw him, he carved in an R, then a plus sign. With a heaving sigh, he slowly carved an E. The only declaration he could make, the only acknowledgement he dared to put into the world. Panicked, he scarpered.

He started to run. He didn’t realise where he was going until he was standing outside the front door. He raised his hand to knock, but he knew that Sonia Kaspbrak would send him packing, even if Eddie was inside. He peered to the side of the house where he knew Eddie’s room looked out. There was a tree. A climbable tree.

‘I should just go,’ Richie tried to tell himself. But the ache in his chest begged him to stay. As long as It was in Derry, then Eddie and Richie were both in danger. Kids went missing, kids died. He couldn’t tell Eddie how he felt, but he could spend time with him, as much time as they had left. That could be enough. It had to be enough.

He started to climb.

Eddie was in bed, still. He looked at the cast on his arm, at the word marked there in black ink. A word he and his friends had tried to claim and reclaim. It hurt to look at it now. Maybe because it was put there by someone trying to hurt him, but maybe because he didn’t feel like one of the Losers club at the moment. Not while he was holed away in his room, kept from them all, kept from Richie.

His stomach gurgled, and he rolled onto his side. He missed Richie so much. But those feelings had to be pushed down, had to be translated somehow back into a friendship. Maybe some time apart would help that to happen. After all, that wasn’t the way you were supposed to feel about your best friend. That was the way he was supposed to feel about a girl.

‘I am sick after all,’ Eddie said sadly to himself.

Then there was a tap at the window. Eddie’s spine prickled as his mind went instantly to the clown. He told himself it was the wind knocking the branches of the trees.

‘Eddie,’ a voice came muffled through the glass. It definitely wasn’t a tree, but it didn’t sound like Pennywise.

Eddie twisted around. ‘Richie?’ he squeaked.

Richie pawed at the glass like a cat. ‘Can you let me in? This is really fucking high up.’

Eddie went to the window, tiptoeing so as not to alert his mother that he was awake. He drew up the pane and Richie started to climb inside. He put out a hand to Richie’s chest to try and stop him. He could feel the heat of Richie’s skin through his t-shirt, feel the rhythm of his quick heartbeat. Pulling his hand away he hissed, ‘What the fuck are you doing? If my mum hears you, you’re so dead.’

‘Funny, your mum loved hearing me last night,’ Richie lied, pushing into the room, forcing Eddie to take steps backwards to avoid touching him. ‘Moaning, talking dirty…’

‘Beep beep, motherfucker,’ Eddie snapped, trying desperately not to raise his voice.

‘Aw, come on, Eds. Are you really not pleased to see me?’ Richie asked, hoping he was concealing the hurt in his heart.

Eddie scoffed, ‘It’s been nice to have peace and quiet around here without your Trashmouth.’

‘Nah, you missed me.’ Richie insisted, flopping down onto Eddie’s bed.

Eddie tried to think of a witty comeback, but he couldn’t. Partly because he knew that it was true but there was no way he was going to admit that. Mostly because he realised that Richie would never have broken into his home like this if he hadn’t been missing Eddie just as badly as Eddie had been missing him. And now Richie was on his bed, like he had been a hundred times before.

‘Did you want something?’ Eddie asked, pretending to be nonchalant, sitting down on the bed beside Richie, carefully folding his legs underneath himself and placing his hands in his lap so that he didn’t fidget.

‘Yeah. You, obviously,’ Richie blurted, then corrected, ‘To see you, I mean. Wanted to see if you’re doing alright. You know, since everything.’ He cursed himself and bit his lip to stop from talking before Eddie beeped him again.

Eddie raised his cast. ‘Fucking super.’ He tried not to think about how his brain had screamed when Richie had said he wanted him.

‘Who wrote that?’ Richie asked, sitting up and reaching over for Eddie’s cast, as though his touch might clear away the graffiti. As he moved, he felt something dislodge from his pocket.

Eddie covered it with his palm to discourage Richie from touching it. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He looked at the shape on the bed beside Richie. ‘What’s that?’

Richie shoved the object back in his pocket. ‘Just my penknife,’ he sniffed, thinking about the R + E. Richie and Eddie. Eddie and Richie. Richie. Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. His heart ached, overwhelmed. ‘Maybe I should go,’ he said suddenly, getting up. ‘In case your mom, you know,’ he fumbled, ‘sees me and just can’t control herself. I wouldn’t want you to see that.’

‘Richie?’ Eddie said, freezing. The only thing worse than Richie staying was Richie going.

‘What?’ Richie said, shoving his quaking hands in his pockets. It was too hard being here, too hard seeing him, looking at his broken arm and knowing he was hurt, wanting to cradle his head in his arms and tell him it was all going to be okay, wanting to tell him that he loved him.

Quickly, Eddie made up a reason. ‘If she hasn’t heard you by now, she’s probably asleep.’

Richie itched, his eyes prickling. He didn’t feel like himself, didn’t feel like he could keep pretending to be in high spirits, to be the jokester, the foul-mouthed, overtly sexual and boisterous friend that he usually was to Eddie. He didn’t want to crack jokes. He didn’t want to cuss. He just wanted to have Eddie hold him, properly hold him.

‘Richie, are you alright?’ Eddie asked, wrinkling his nose to try and detract from his genuine concern. Richie looked crestfallen, vulnerable. He didn’t look that way very often. It was unsettling when the mask came away. However, with Richie’s walls down, Eddie relaxed too. He filled the silence, ‘I want you to stay, asshole. I have missed you.’ Cringing, he added, ‘Somehow.’

The corner of Richie’s mouth twitched. ‘Yeah?’

Eddie lowered his eyelids, knowing that he couldn’t stroke Richie’s ego by saying it again.

‘Knew it,’ Richie said smugly, with a wry smile. Tentatively, like a deer approaching, Richie minced his way back to Eddie’s bed and sat down, mirroring Eddie’s pose. As he folded his legs, his bony shoulder brushed against Eddie’s.

There was a silence as Eddie fished for a couple of comic books. Richie watched him, thinking about how something as simple and honest as acknowledging that he missed Richie and wanted him around was just enough of the comfort that he craved. It was Richie’s own downfall, but Eddie always knew the right thing to say, the right time to let go. He hoped he could do the same, for once.

‘Eds?’ Richie asked.

‘Don’t call me Eds.’ Eddie said, not looking at him.

Richie smiled, ‘I missed you too.’

Eddie rolled his eyes at him. They locked gazes for a second. There was a look in his eyes that Eddie could believe was love. If he wanted to. Like a sugar pill, like a gazebo. As his heart skipped, Eddie smirked, ‘You’re a fucking loser.’ He looked at his cast. He looked at Richie. They both were losers. They always had been and always would be.

\---

Eddie looked at the scar on his hand, healed over, pink and latticed, as he leant over the railings of the kissing bridge, waiting for Richie to meet him.

‘What you doing, Spaghetti? Palm reading?’ Richie hollered. He grinned as he sauntered over, hands shoved in his pockets. ‘What does your love line say?’

Eddie blushed, ‘Fuck off, Trashmouth.’

‘I can tell you if you want. I’m a great palm-reader,’ Richie bragged. He couldn’t help himself with Eddie, couldn’t help bragging, couldn’t help but invent ways to touch him. It was easier now, in this time following the final fight with It, to be gentler with Eddie. They’d been through things together, bonded closer than they ever had before. It was okay for Richie to take the mask off. In fact, he enjoyed that when he did, Eddie let his slip too.

‘Oh yeah? What does yours say then?’ Eddie challenged, folding his arms.

Richie frowned and came up behind Eddie so that he could hold up his palm for them both to see. ‘Well let’s see, shall we? Here’s my love line.’ He reached around Eddie’s shoulder with his other hand to point. Eddie could feel Richie’s chest pushing into his shoulder blades, the breath skating past his neck. ‘And would you look at that. Just one big long line. One true love.’

Eddie’s heart thudded. ‘Oh, yeah?’

Richie sniffed, ‘Me and your mom are gonna be so happy.’

Eddie elbowed him, ‘You’re such an asshole.’

‘Want me to read yours or not?’ Richie asked, coming around to Eddie’s front. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Eddie’s hand.

Eddie got an electric shock as Richie’s fingers curled around his own. He thought about the last time that this hand was in Richie’s: when they’d been standing in the circle making the blood pact, swearing to come back and fight It if It ever came back again. He’d still had the cast on then, with its big red V editing the signature. That arm, holding Richie’s hand.

‘If you make another your mom joke, I will fucking kill you.’ Eddie warned.

‘Nah, nah, I won’t,’ Richie promised. ‘Okay, so here’s your love line,’ he mused, letting his fingertip graze across the markings, across the great pink scar, along the soft webbing between his knuckles. ‘Hm, very interesting. Very interesting. Seems like just about everyone’s going to fall madly in love with you, but,’ he cringed.

‘What?’ Eddie’s brow furrowed, trying not to read into the fact that Richie said everyone and not every girl.

‘You refuse to kiss anyone in case you catch a disease from all the bacteria in the human mouth,’ Richie rolled his eyes and grinned, letting Eddie’s hand go. He knew it was a cheap shot, but he wondered if Eddie remembered the time that he’d told Richie that, before Richie had smacked his lips against his cheek. Surreptitiously, his eyes darted over to the carving he’d made.

‘That’s not funny, fuckface,’ Eddie said, but there wasn’t any venom in it. Vaguely, he remembered a time earlier that summer when he’d fallen from his bike, when Richie had patched him up and, in his own words, kissed it better despite Eddie’s protests about the bacteria. Eddie wondered if Richie remembered this too, if this is what he was referring to. After all, it was the same spot. Before he could think too hard, Eddie said, ‘Besides, I’ve already been kissed, and it didn’t seem to do any harm.’

Richie’s heart stopped. ‘What? When?’

‘By you, asshole. Remember?’ Eddie laughed. ‘Jesus, and if I don’t catch anything from you, of all people, then I’m probably set.’

Richie bit his lip, ‘Does that count?’ he asked, turning to lean over the railings and stare out over the horizon.

‘Probably not,’ Eddie admitted, sidling next to him, just close enough that their resting elbows knocked together. ‘But it’s all I’ve got.’

‘Loser,’ Richie said quietly.

‘Fuck you. It’s not like you’ve got better.’ Eddie said.

Indignant, Richie stood tall, ‘What? Course I do.’ He saw Eddie already lowering his eyelids. ‘Your mom is a great kisser. And she doesn’t kiss on the cheek. Or my lips. She prefers –’

‘Beep beep, Richie.’ Eddie nudged him, hard, turning to face him with that angry pinkness in his cheeks. ‘You said you wouldn’t make another your mom joke.’

‘I didn’t mean indefinitely,’ Richie rebuked, locking Eddie’s gaze, his brown eyes and pouted lips. He thought about what it would be like to kiss him properly. It would be so easy, right here in this perfect place, the carving already marking it in advance, the final closing piece to a summer filled with equal parts beautiful and haunting memories. His face was so close to Eddie’s. All he had to do was close the gap. ‘Fuck it,’ he whispered to himself, and leaned in.

Startled, Eddie recoiled, ‘Whoa!’ His eyes spread wide like a woodland creature, his knuckles white as they still gripped the railings. Richie had just tried to kiss him. Richie had literally leaned in to kiss him. And he’d missed it, the look of terror still on his face as his heart thudded in his chest. He’d fought a killer clown and won, he'd been chased by a leper and won, he’d stood up to his mom and won, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of Richie trying to kiss him.

‘Oh, fuck.’ Richie said, stepping back, his neck craning away, shoving his hands back into his pockets and taking them out again, awkward. ‘Sorry.’ He scratched the back of his neck. ‘I gotta go,’ he announced, and then he ran.

‘Richie!’ Eddie called out after him, finally regaining his voice. It was squeaking and hoarse. ‘Richie!’ he tried again, but Richie had vanished around the street corner. His mouth hung open long after the name had left his lips, stunned. ‘Fuck,’ he mumbled under his breath. ‘Fuck, fuck.’ With a groan, he knelt to the floor and rested his forehead against the wooden planks of the bridge.

He stayed there motionless for a moment, trying to comprehend what it meant, trying to work out where he went from here. He put himself in Richie’s shoes and imagined how he would have felt if Richie had pulled away, shocked. The dark boil in his stomach told him.

Slowly, he stood and started to walk, trying to figure out where to go or what to do. He was so locked in his own thoughts that he never noticed the R + E carved just a few inches away.

\---

Richie was in the arcade playing Street Fighter with Stan. Mike was working at the farm. Ben and Bill were together, mourning the loss of Bev to her aunt’s house. For some reason, she hadn’t written back to their letters. So, Eddie was at home alone, again.

He’d tried calling Richie’s house, but his mom always said he was in the shower. He’d tried knocking on Richie’s door, but his dad always said he wasn’t in. He’d tried wandering around Richie’s usual haunts, but on the rare occasion that he saw Richie, Richie pretended not to notice him and walked away. If he tried to join Stan and Richie at the arcade, Richie would find an excuse not to go.

When the losers went to the clubhouse, Eddie would holler, ‘Ten minutes are up!’ and Richie would mildly protest, then climb out of his own volition. Richie didn’t make your mom jokes at Eddie’s expense anymore. He didn’t get ice cream for Eddie anymore. Worst of all, he always called him Eddie.

He wanted to talk to someone about what happened, but there was only one person who he knew he could safely talk to, and that person was making every concerted effort to avoid him. Eddie kicked at the skirting boards of his bedroom and cried, again. He kept hoping that if he willed it enough, Richie would come back to him.

He breathed deeply. He just had to keep trying. Richie couldn’t stay away from him forever. He needed to see him, needed to tell him that everything was okay, needed to find out what the kiss would have meant. He rubbed the stains from his cheeks and tottered downstairs, pulling on his sneakers and heading out the door.

Richie lost to Stan at Street Fighter. Stan whooped and thwacked him on the back, ‘I think that’s the first time I’ve ever beaten you.’

‘Only because you fucking cheated,’ Richie grumbled.

‘How did I fucking cheat?’ Stan guffawed. ‘Just admit you lost, man.’

Richie didn’t answer him, just went to the token machine and exchanged another quarter. It came out, clean and shining and gold. He thought about the time he’d been here with Bowers’ cousin and shuddered. He’d been accused of something true, and now Eddie knew not only that truth, but that Richie wanted to kiss him. He felt sick. Every time he saw Eddie, he felt that same nausea.

Stan came up behind him, ‘Let’s not go again right away. I could use some air.’

Richie rolled his eyes. ‘You just don’t want to play again in case you lose.’ He followed Stan out into the streets where they found a bench to sit down.

Stan drummed his fingers on his knees. ‘Are you gonna talk about it, or do I have to ask?’ he said impatiently.

‘What?’ Richie shrugged.

Rolling his eyes, Stan spluttered, ‘You’ve been miserable for weeks and you’ve been acting really weird. Weirdest of all, where the fuck is Eddie? I feel like I never see you two together anymore, somehow not even when we’re all hanging out as a group.’

Richie couldn’t tell him the truth. He couldn’t tell him how hopelessly in love with Eddie he was, had always been. He couldn’t tell him how much it ached when he saw him, how all that flooded his brain was the image of Eddie’s fear when he had leaned in. It reminded him of the time when Richie had offered to snap his arm back into place, when Eddie had screamed: ‘Do not fucking touch me!’

It didn’t matter that Eddie followed him around and tried to track him down, didn’t matter that Eddie hadn’t told anyone, didn’t matter that clearly Eddie didn’t really care about him liking boys, because as hard as it was to keep Eddie at arm’s length, he knew it would be harder to have Eddie actually say the words: ‘I don’t think of you like that. We’re friends, but that’s all. I want everything to go back to how it was before.’

‘We, sort of, had a fight.’ Richie lied. ‘I don’t want to see him.’

Stan made a face of contempt which quickly morphed to fury. ‘A fight? About what? I mean, Jesus Christ, what the fuck could be so bad after all we’ve been through?’ He shook his head. ‘A fight. Fucking hell, Richie, are you six? You guys are best friends. Man the fuck up and fix it.’

‘It’s not as easy as that!’ Richie protested, getting to his feet. ‘Fuck you, man. You don’t get it.’ He started to march away without saying goodbye.

‘Richie!’ Stan called after him.

Tears stung in Richie’s eyes as he thought of the last time he’d been with Eddie, as he ran away and Eddie called out to him with the same pleading tone. He had to get home. He just had to get home.

He stopped short as his house came into view. Like some hideous, gorgeous dream, Eddie was right there on his porch in his shorts and tube socks. He reached up to the doorbell, standing on the tips of his toes. Richie froze, not knowing where to go or what to do. As Eddie waited for one of the Tozier household to answer the door, he span on his heels. He saw Richie, stood there motionless in the road. They stayed there in silence, looking at each other for a while.

The front door opened. Eddie put on his best smile, ‘Hello, Mrs Tozier. Can Richie and I come in?’

Confused, Mrs Tozier looked over Eddie’s shoulder for her son, who was slowly ambling up to the door. He gave her no indication of what to do, so she simply said, ‘Of course, Eddie. Hurry up, Richie, you’re letting the cold air in.’

The two boys solemnly climbed the stairs to Richie’s bedroom. Their hearts both beat quickly, in near synchronised rhythm. The muscles tensed in both of their shoulders. Their throats dried and closed. Eddie wished that he still used his inhaler. Richie wished that he had anything to say.

Richie gently closed the bedroom door with a click. He turned around, hands deep in his pockets, clenched into fists so tight that the nails dug into his palms. Eddie wasn’t sure whether it was better to stand or sit, hovering. His fingers twitched, fumbling for the comforting strap of his red fanny-pack, but he no longer wore it.

‘Hi,’ Eddie said eventually, perching on the end of Richie’s bed.

‘Hi,’ Richie said, wishing he could jump out of the window. He looked at Eddie’s face, his glowing cheeks and doe eyes. His best friend, who hadn’t given up on trying to see him or speak to him, who wanted him in his life at whatever cost, who had literally forced his way back in. With a helpless groan, he started to cry. ‘I’m sorry.’

Eddie’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure how many times he had seen Richie cry, but he could easily count it on one hand. And on every occasion, he’d cried because he was in physical pain. Eddie didn’t know how to deal with it. He wanted to jump up, throw his arms around him, bury his head into Richie’s chest until it stopped tremoring. Instead he said, ‘Me too.’

Richie snorted, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve. ‘What are you sorry for? I’m the asshole here.’

‘You’re always an asshole,’ Eddie said.

Richie chuckled, ‘Yeah.’ Richie went and sat beside Eddie. It was easier to be near him than to have to look at him. ‘Must have been nice to have some time without me and my Trashmouth, right?’ he joked.

Eddie didn’t laugh. ‘It’s straight-up sucked,’ he spat honestly, and Richie flinched.

‘Eds, I…’ Richie began.

‘Don’t call me Eds,’ Eddie said, finally breaking into a smile as the familiar, love-to-hate nickname washed through him. Then he admitted, ‘It’s been fucking lonely, man.’

Richie squirmed. ‘It’s not like I’ve been able to talk to anyone about it either.’ He exhaled heavily. ‘But thanks for keeping it a secret, I guess.’ Dirty little secret. Dirty little secret. The clown laughed in his head. His cheeks burned red.

‘You would have,’ Eddie said, wriggling his nose. ‘You know, if it was the other way around.’

Richie’s brow furrowed as he tried to unpack this, diving for hidden meanings and insinuations that he couldn’t take to heart, didn’t want to let himself think. To push them out, he tried something else, ‘Can we forget the whole thing?’

Eddie wasn’t sure what the right answer was. He debated both, before settling on the truth. ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ Richie choked. ‘Okay. I guess,’ he coughed, ‘I guess that’s it, then.’

‘What?’ Eddie grimaced. ‘Fuck no, you idiot. I just meant,’ he sharply inhaled, ‘I don’t really want to forget it.’ Slowly, his lips a tight line, he twisted his head towards Richie to see his reaction to this.

Perplexed, Richie shuffled, his brain not truly processing what Eddie had just said. He could feel Eddie’s eyes burning into the side of his head. He knew he had to look at him. At first, he stole just a glance, before letting his head turn with an erratic sigh. Then he saw Eddie’s eyes, the same hopeful and hopeless love he knew was mirrored in his own. He couldn’t believe that he’d never noticed it before.

It was only a tiny movement, but Eddie leaned forwards, his eyes dipping from Richie’s eyes to Richie’s mouth and back again. Richie swallowed, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, afraid that he was desperately misreading the situation. But then Eddie came closer still, and Richie could see the goosebumps prickling on his arms. Tentative, Richie twisted his spine, raised his chin a fraction.

Eddie felt like he might be sick at any moment; there was a lump in his throat which threatened to throttle him. But then, his face was closer to Richie’s than it had ever been before, and he was staring through the curly-haired boy’s thick lenses at eyes which were gleaming and clear. When they bumped noses, they both twitched. Eddie let his lips part. Richie felt the shallow breaths on his skin. Their eyes closed. Holding his breath, Richie pressed his lips to Eddie’s. Eddie didn’t pull away. After a few seconds, Richie broke the kiss.

‘But, I don’t—’ Richie began.

‘Beep beep,’ Eddie said, the second word only a mumble as he kissed Richie, for the slightest bit longer than the first. 

There was a short silence when they parted, and Eddie sat back, suddenly nervous again. He tried to wipe the sweat from his palms onto his knees. It had finally happened. He’d kissed Richie. The kiss he’d thought about for months, the kiss he thought he’d never get, the kiss he thought had passed him by. He’d never considered that there had to be a conversation afterwards, had to be a life afterwards.

Richie was gobsmacked. All he could do was curse himself. This whole time he’d been avoiding Eddie, ensuring that they never spent a moment alone together, terrified that he had already lost him. This whole time they’d been apart, the'd been wasting time that they could have spent here, together, lips locked and loving. ‘I’m a fucking moron,’ he said eventually.

‘What else is new?’ Eddie chuckled.

Richie blinked rapidly. ‘On the bridge, I thought –’

‘I was just surprised!’ Eddie said, then added, ‘And I was scared. It still sort of scares me.’

Richie nodded, ‘Me too.’

They sat there, side by side. Richie inched his hand closer to Eddie’s, until their little fingers grazed. Eddie flipped his wrist and burrowed his hand underneath Richie’s, curling his fingers upwards, interlocking. They both smiled. Soft, warm smiles.

Richie sighed, ‘God, I’m probably going to have to end things with your mom.’

‘Aw, fuck you, dude,’ Eddie snapped, ripping his hand away and pulling his knees up onto the bed. He slapped against Richie’s shoulder. ‘You fucking ruined it.’

Richie cackled, falling backwards onto the bed. ‘Come on, Eds, you know you love it.’

‘You’re the fucking worst,’ Eddie declared, trying to push him off the bed.

‘Stop!’ Richie cried, gripping onto Eddie’s arm, the arm which no longer had the cast, no longer had the word LOSER or LOVER imprinted on it. He grinned, knowing that Eddie could be both, to him. He pushed back against the smaller boy, easily overpowering him, still snickering, until they both flopped back down, heads on either pillow.

‘I like you, Eddie Spaghetti,’ Richie said, his heart feeling as though it was swelling like a balloon.

Eddie smirked, ‘I know. I like you too, Trashmouth.’


	2. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second piece of Eddie and Richie's love story - in the time after their first encounter of It when they are high schoolers in Derry.

The beauty of it was that after Richie and Eddie kissed for the first time, in the eyes of the rest of the Losers Club, everything seemed to go back to normal, even considering Bev’s extended absence.

Eddie and Richie were as close as they’d ever been. They cussed each other out, argued and fought, shared the hammock and their ice cream, laughed with and at each other, and defended each other at all costs.

It was only when they were alone, in the sanctuary of one of their bedrooms, that they dared to share kisses or tender moments. Nobody knew about this new development in their relationship, and the boys initially found it deeply thrilling and special that they had this secret.

After a while, they settled into a rhythm. They never called what they had anything more than friendship. Intimacy was a part of that, just something that they newly did together. This was for a lot of reasons, and for the most part, they liked it this way as it took away some of the pressure on them to label themselves or decide what these emotions were.

Richie turned up at Eddie’s door one Saturday. ‘Morning, Mrs Kaspbrak,’ he greeted with a smile, pushing his new, dark-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. The glasses no longer seemed comically large on his face, as his jaw had filled out and his neck broadened. His taste in shirts had not improved. ‘Is Eddie ready to go?’

Sonia pursed her lips and ushered Richie inside to wait in the kitchen. Richie watched as she lumbered labouredly upstairs and found Eddie gelling his hair in the bathroom.

‘Tell Richie two minutes.’ Eddie said without looking at her. He stroked a hand over his chin and wondered if he would ever begin to grow stubble like Richie could.

‘I didn’t know you were going out today,’ Mrs Kaspbrak said passively, breathing heavily from the climb. When Eddie said nothing, she prodded, ‘Where are you going?’

Eddie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Probably the mall.’

‘Probably or definitely?’ she asked, the worry seeping into her voice.

‘Probably,’ Eddie rolled his eyes and studied his outfit. He wasn’t happy with it, but he knew that Richie wouldn’t much notice what he was wearing anyway. He tried to squeeze past his mother, but she gripped at his upper arm with her sausage fingers.

‘I don’t like you hanging around with that boy so much,’ she hissed, her eyes ablaze.

Eddie’s stomach knotted, but he tried his best not to let it show on his face. ‘Mom, not this again, okay? For the last time, Richie is not a bad influence on me.’ She always had thought this before, because of Richie’s unstable home life and his crass humour. She saw deprecation and chaos at every turn, and always thought that the world was out to corrupt her little boy.

‘Eddie, sweetheart –’ Sonia began, blinking rapidly.

‘We’ve been friends for years and years and I’ve turned out alright, haven’t I? No drinking, no drugs, no trouble.’ He almost laughed nervously when he thought about how much danger he’d been in with It a few summers ago. The worst thing Richie had ever done to influence Eddie was curse.

Sonia’s face was cold and stern, thin-lipped and pallid. Her skin hung loose and flabby like the jowls of a bulldog. ‘It’s not right for two boys to spend quite so much time together.’

Eddie’s heart leapt into his throat. He tried to look confused, as though he didn’t know what his mother meant, but his expression resembled fear far more closely.

‘Everything okay?’ Richie called up from the bottom of the stairs. Sonia Kaspbrak whipped her head around to face him, staring down like a great goddess behemoth from this height.

Eddie couldn’t confirm or refute her insinuation, so he just wrapped his arms around his mother and kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll see you later, mom,’ he said quietly.

Then he trotted down the stairs, tugging on Richie’s elbow as he passed him.

‘When will you be back?’ Sonia hollered.

‘Late.’ Eddie said vaguely, shutting the front door on her.

‘Uh, Eds?’ Richie started, raising an eyebrow.

Eddie pushed on his shoulder blade, forcing him off the porch steps. Richie almost tripped over his own feet, shoelaces unravelling. ‘Let’s go, okay?’ Eddie said, feigning nonchalance, but Richie heard the crack in his voice. ‘Where are we going?’

Richie had been planning on going to the mall, but he figured it might be better to go somewhere more private where they could talk. ‘Thought we could go down to the quarry for a bit.’

Eddie nodded, ‘Sounds good.’

The walk was long but peaceful. The boys didn’t say much to each other, enjoying breathing the fresh air and escaping the busy high school life.

As the quarry exploded into view, vast and inviting, Richie started to ably climb down a section of the cliff face. He reached up for Eddie’s hands to help guide him safely down into the crevice eroded into the wall. Their legs hung over the edge of the nothing, swinging mindlessly. The way that the cliff jutted out just here made it appear as though the water surrounded them, an island in the sky.

‘Do you remember when we found this place?’ Richie asked Eddie nostalgically, gazing out over the horizon where a flock of birds circled a copse of trees. Stan would know what kind. ‘You thought I was crazy, coming down the cliff like this. You said it could crumble at any moment.’

‘Still could,’ Eddie grumbled.

‘You know you do that a lot.’ Richie smirked.

‘What?’

‘Tell everyone something isn’t safe and then do it anyway.’ Richie grinned. ‘The greywater, the hideout in the ground, the Neibolt house. I’m never quite sure if it’s because you’re braver than you are smart, or if you just want to be able to say, ‘I told you so’.’ He mused, ‘I suspect the latter.’

‘I will push you off this cliff,’ Eddie warned. There was no levity in his voice.

‘Come on, Eds, talk to me. What was going on with you and your mom?’

Eddie slowly slaked his tongue over his teeth. ‘She’s getting suspicious. Of you.’

‘Well, she’s never liked me,’ Richie dismissed. ‘Fuck knows why, right?’

Eddie gulped, ‘No, this is new. She’s suspicious of us. That we’re,’ he coughed, ‘well, you know, more than friends.’

Whenever they addressed something like this, Richie felt like his skin itched, like pins and needles were surging. It wasn’t that he didn’t know he loved Eddie, it wasn’t that he didn’t know that Eddie was far more than a friend, but he didn’t say these things. It was too frightening, too definite, too serious.

Sneaking around was fun, for the most part, and they both knew that it was something necessary, so it had never been much of a conversation. Kissing was fun, really fun. Making Eddie’s eyes swim and the corner of his lips curl upwards as he blushed: there was hardly a better feeling. Talking about the realities of being a same-sex couple in Derry in the eighties? That was difficult, boring, scary and sad.

Richie asked what Sonia had said, and Eddie told him.

Richie babbled, ‘She doesn’t know anything. Come on, loads of guys just hang out with their best mate all the time. She’d freak out so much more if you only had female friends. She’d hate it if you had a girlfriend.’

‘Beep beep, Richie.’ Eddie attempted, but Richie took no heed.

The anger tightened the tendons in his neck. ‘Why the fuck does she even think that about us? About me? What makes us, or me, so different?’

‘Maybe that she’s right. You are different.’ Eddie said, hating every word that dripped from his lips. It reminded him of the saliva dangling from Pennywise’s lower lip. He began to tremble as he said, ‘I am different. Much as I’d like her to be sometimes, she’s not stupid.’ He lowered his head.

It was so tempting for Richie to keep ranting, but he knew that it wouldn’t help Eddie to feel any better. Slowly, he exhaled and tried to calm himself. ‘Okay,’ Richie said eventually. ‘So, what do we do?’

‘I think we might need to be careful. Like maybe you shouldn’t come to my house for a while.’

Eddie’s heart hurt just to think about it. There was something so wonderfully ordinary about Richie coming over to his house. Now it was becoming something wrong, something that the outside world was looking in to pry and judge, rather than one of their few, rare, safe spaces.

Richie pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘You’re not suggesting that we stop, are you?’

‘Oh, fuck no!’ Eddie exclaimed eagerly. He felt embarrassed until he saw Richie’s relieved smile. ‘I just mean we might have to spend some more time at yours or set up some stuff that looks like the rest of the Losers might be there.’

Richie thought about this for a couple of seconds. ‘Okay,’ he agreed.

‘You sure?’

Richie leaned over and planted a kiss on his lips. ‘Whatever it takes. I don’t care what we do as long as I have you, Spaghetti.’

Eddie reached over for Richie’s hand, weaving their fingers together. They looked out over the natural beauty in front of them. ‘I feel like I could sit here forever,’ he breathed.

‘Loser,’ Richie teased, jostling against him hard enough that Eddie had to use his other hand to grip the ledge.

‘What have I said about nudging me like that when we’re up here?’ Eddie snapped. When he saw Richie laughing he added, ‘It’s not funny.’

‘It is quite funny.’ Richie retorted.

‘Fuck you, Richie.’ Eddie said, shaking his head.

‘You wish,’ Richie said without thinking, and both boys immediately blushed. To diffuse the tension, he smacked his other hand on top of Eddie’s. ‘I’m hungry. Let’s grab some food somewhere.’

\--- 

Richie loved opening his front door to see Eddie there. Backlit by the sun, he was an ethereal silhouette. Even though he was still shorter than Richie, he was lean and toned, with gorgeous locks of brown hair that swept across his head. He raked his hands through it and hurried himself inside, checking over his shoulder as though someone might be spying on him.

Richie’s face dropped. He followed Eddie up the stairs to his bedroom. As soon as the door was closed, Eddie wrapped his hand around Richie’s neck and drew him into a deep kiss. ‘Hi,’ he said afterwards.

‘Hi,’ Richie greeted. ‘Where’d you tell your mom you were going?’ he asked with a sigh.

‘To the movies with Bill.’ Eddie said. He raised his eyebrows at Richie, proud of himself for swindling this. When Richie didn’t smile, his face dropped. ‘What?’

Richie puffed out his cheeks as he flopped down on his bedcovers. ‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. ‘I’m getting a little bored of the lying.’

‘You? Bored of lying?’ Eddie chuckled. ‘Then how aren’t you bored of saying you fucked my mom?’

‘Oh, because that’s not a lie,’ Richie vowed, a sparkle of his usual personality filtering through his sudden melancholy. Then it vanished, ‘It’s different. All these lies just make me think of all the things I want to do with you, but I can’t.’

‘What do you mean?’ Eddie said, climbing onto the bed next to him. He lay down so that his head was in line with Richie’s and looked down to see how Richie’s feet hung over the edge when his barely reached the bedposts.

Richie looked at him, his eyes darting between each pupil, unsure of where to settle. ‘It’d be so fucking nice to go to the movies with you. I’d love to go and meet you there and I buy your ticket and you get the popcorn.’

‘I don’t understand. We’ve done that at the movies before.’ Eddie furrowed his brow.

‘But we don’t do that now.’ Richie pressed, but Eddie said nothing. ‘Come on, don’t make me sound like a fucking sap. You know what I mean.’ But Eddie clearly didn’t. Richie groaned, before he admitted, ‘It’d be nice to be like the couples at the movie theatre, for once. It’d be nice to be like the couples fucking anywhere.’

Eddie’s heart pounded. He didn’t like it when Richie used words like ‘couple’. It was too direct in comparison to something else, something that was so similar and yet so strikingly different to what they were. Something that behaves alike but doesn’t quite look alike. Unsettling, the uncanny valley.

Richie went on, ‘All these times we’re out together and we can’t even sit next to each other in a fucking diner. I can’t hold your hand when we walk down the street. I can’t kiss you goodbye at the end of the day. Jesus Christ, I can’t even fucking talk about you. Not even with my best friends.’

Eddie had no idea that Richie felt this way. He had no desire to share his and Richie’s relationship with anyone else, lest it be tainted by the haunted Derry air, the malicious Derry population. This pocket of happiness glowed like a beacon, he didn’t want it sullied. He tried his hardest not to let its light leak into any other aspect of his life.

Richie, on the other hand, felt like he was keeping a light inside a Swiss cheese, and found himself constantly darting to block another hole. ‘Mike tells me about some girl in our class who wants me to ask her out and I have to find some other shitty excuse. Stan always goes straight to Bill for relationship advice because obviously I can’t know a thing about it. Ben asks me if I’ve ever felt about someone the way that he felt about Bev and I have to lie and say only his mom.’

‘You could just say no,’ Eddie suggested, trying to make him laugh. He didn’t like seeing Richie so subdued.

‘Eddie, I’m just saying I wish we didn’t have to hide quite so fucking much.’ Richie finished. ‘It’s starting to feel so,’ he clenched his jaw, ‘claustrophobic.’

Claustrophobia: the fear of small spaces. Coulrophobia: the fear of clowns. The words sounded so similar. Richie shuddered.

Eddie gently stroked downwards on the lightly freckled skin of Richie’s arm. It was hard seeing him so frustrated, and yet he felt completely incapable of alleviating that frustration. He didn’t feel the same claustrophobia. He felt safe, protected, guarded.

Eddie said, ‘At least you don’t have to hide from me anymore. At least I don’t have to hide from you. I’m not saying that’s everything but maybe it can be enough.’

Richie thought about the time that he’d knelt in front of the wooden planks of the kissing bridge and carved the R+E. He’d thought that about the time that he’d kissed Eddie’s cheek, how back then he’d believed it would be the only kiss they’d ever share, and how that could be enough, could be everything.

‘Maybe.’ Richie hummed.

He looked at Eddie now. Older, gentler, as bright and clean as he’d ever been, somehow more afraid of his relationship with Richie than he had ever been of a killer clown. The boy he had kissed more times than he could remember.

Back when he carved into the bridge, he knew he was lying to himself. He’d known that one kiss wouldn’t be enough forever. Even if he had to keep telling lies to the world, he wasn’t going to keep telling lies to himself or to Eddie.

‘For now.’ Richie added solemnly.

Eddie kissed him. ‘Enough talking,’ he whispered, then kissed him again, hand dragging back up Richie’s body.

It was hard to say no to Eddie when he kissed like this. Richie sank into the moment, drawing Eddie closer to his body, running his hands up his back, clutching at the soft hairs on the back of his head. He felt himself growing hot as Eddie’s breathing grew more ragged.

Eddie dotted kisses down Richie’s neck, careful not to leave any marks which could betray their liaison. He pulled Richie on top of him, straddling his narrow hips.

Richie hesitated for a moment, then he grabbed at the collar at the back of his neck and pulled the shirt off over his head. His dark curls bounced haphazardly; he pushed them away from his face. ‘Is this okay?’ he asked tentatively.

Eddie stared at Richie’s bare skin and nodded. Propped up on his elbows, he bit his lower lip and scanned up the boy’s body, at the downy hairs spreading across his chest and trickling down from his bellybutton. Then he swiftly removed his own shirt.

‘Jesus Christ, Eds,’ Richie gaped, seeing the tone of Eddie’s abdomen. His skin was buffed and smooth as marble, of the rich olive colour that dappled his cheeks.

Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie’s waist and kissed his shoulders, kissed his arms, kissed down his throat, dragging his lips along his breastbone.

Richie pushed Eddie back down flat and pressed their lips together, hard and heated. Gently, he pulled at Eddie’s lip with his teeth, letting it snap back into place. His hands moved over the new torso before him, surprisingly lithe and athletic. His thumbs traced at the waistband of Eddie’s jeans.

Eddie’s hands moved down to meet Richie’s and slowly guided them back up his body. ‘One step at a time,’ he mumbled.

Richie had known he was pushing his luck and happily agreed. He could wait until Eddie was ready before they did anything more. What he wasn’t sure of was how long he could stay in the closet. He needed Eddie to be ready for that, but he was scared that he never would be. One thing was certain, he couldn’t do it alone.

\--- 

‘Eds, come over here.’ Richie called, poking his head through the curtains of the photobooth. The beam on his face reminded Eddie of when they were kids. ‘Do you remember this thing?’

Eddie clambered into the cramped space. ‘God, how the fuck did we manage to fit all the Losers in here at once?’

‘Seven. Can you believe there used to be seven of us?’ Richie shook his head in disbelief, fluffing his hair in the camera view.

‘And then there were four.’ Eddie huffed.

First Bev, then Ben. Only a few weeks prior, Bill had made the announcement that he and his family were soon to be leaving Derry. The boys were coping with it about as well as expected: steeped in denial and humour. After all, Ben had promised to stay in touch, but he hadn’t. They couldn’t bear to think that Bill might disappear too.

Richie fished in his pockets. He pulled out lint, a half-chewed packet of gum, a pack of cigarettes which Eddie disapproved of, an eraser, a tissue and a small green army soldier toy before he finally found a quarter. ‘What do you say? For old times sake.’

Eddie took the quarter from him and fed it into the machine. It started to count down from three.

‘Say ‘I fucked your mom’!’ Richie beamed. Flash.

Eddie clocked what Richie had said and angrily pouted, turning towards him. Richie threw his head back in laughter. Flash.

His heart swelling, Richie clutched Eddie’s face and kissed him. Flash.

Eddie grinned as he twisted his head away. Richie planted another kiss on his cheek. Flash.

The machine whirred, preparing to print. Eddie’s face dropped quickly. He jumped out of the booth and scooped up the pictures as they spat out of the machine, almost tearing them. Holding them tightly to his chest, he tried to breathe. For the first time in years, he fumbled for his inhaler, which wasn’t there.

‘Uh, Eds?’

‘Don’t call me Eds,’ Eddie mumbled, starting to walk away.

Perplexed, Richie followed him, skipping steps and stumbling to keep up with Eddie’s pace. Eventually they burst out into the courtyard. Eddie found an indented corner of the brickwork and pressed his back up against the cool terracotta, trying to calm down.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Richie asked.

Eddie opened his hands so that he could see the photographs. ‘We’ve got to get rid of these.’

Richie’s heart twanged. ‘What? Why?’ he asked, as though he didn’t know the answer.

‘Richie, come on.’ Eddie’s eyelids lowered. ‘We’re literally kissing in this one.’

Richie kicked a stone. ‘So?’

Eddie gritted his teeth. ‘So, it’s evidence.’

‘No one needs to see them but us.’ Richie attempted, his features soft, romantic.

Eddie hardly noticed. The world was swimming in a blur of panic. ‘Someone could find them. For fuck’s sake, we need some boundaries. We need controls. We need plausible deniability.’

Richie scoffed, ‘Plausible deniability. Jesus fucking Christ, Eds. I am so sick of denying us. I’m sick of denying what we have. I’m sick of denying who we are.’

‘You mean _what_ we are.’ Eddie corrected, a thick layer of self-loathing in his voice. Richie had never heard that before, never realised how deep this went in Eddie.

‘You know what?’ Richie said, smiling even though his eyes brimmed with fury and defeat. ‘You want to fucking destroy the pictures then you go right ahead.’ He turned.

‘Where are you going?’ Eddie hissed after him, still trying not to attract unwanted outside attention.

‘Away from you.’ Richie yelled, just to hammer the point.

‘Richie, you’re overreacting.’ Eddie muttered, looking around to see if anyone was staring. As far as he could see, they were all but alone.

‘That’s rich.’ Richie said.

Eddie’s nostrils flared, ‘Beep beep, Richie.’

Richie clenched and unclenched his jaw. Quietly, he parted with, ‘I’ll see you later, Eddie.’

Eddie slid the incriminating photographs into his jacket. He wiped away a rogue tear, exhaled heavily, and started to walk home. Before he was halfway there, he twisted on his heels and started to make his way down to the quarry.

At first, he wasn’t sure he had come to the right place. Peering over the side of the cliff, he was just able to make out Richie’s legs dangling over the chasm. ‘Richie?’ he called down.

‘Fuck off, Eddie.’

‘Let’s talk.’ Eddie suggested.

Richie didn’t say anything. Eddie looked at the cliff face. He had never made his way down it before without Richie’s guiding hands. For some reason, he felt safe with Richie’s arms wrapped around him, even though it probably did little to protect them both from toppling into the water. It was just a comfort, a placebo. Which meant he could do it alone. Gingerly, he climbed.

‘Richie?’ Eddie said, sitting down in the hollow beside him. ‘I’m sorry. I just… I panicked.’

Richie didn’t look at him. ‘You know I thought we were making progress. I thought we were ready to accept all this. I thought, with Bill leaving so soon and all, that we should make the most of the time we have left with our friends. I was going to ask you today if you felt ready to tell them. I thought we should give ourselves the chance to be fucking honest with them.’

Eddie’s chin dropped to his chest.

‘But you’re not ready.’ Richie continued. ‘Of course, you’re not fucking ready. Because you haven’t even accepted it yourself.’

‘Richie, you don’t get to decide when I’m ready.’ Eddie said fervently. ‘You can’t tell me to be okay and make it so.’

‘But you haven’t accepted me either,’ Richie whispered. ‘It makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me, wrong with us, when you feel so strongly that way. It’s like you’re ashamed of me. Like you’re afraid of me.’

That was when Eddie’s heart broke in two. ‘Fuck, Richie, I’m not afraid of you. God, you’re the only person in the world who I’m not fucking afraid of. And I’m not afraid of me either. Or of us.’ Eddie breathed deeply, and a wash of realisation flooded through his body as he finally understood how he felt. ‘I’m afraid _for_ us.’

Richie softened enough to take Eddie’s hand. He squeezed it tightly.

Eddie explained, ‘I’m afraid of losing my mom, and losing more of our friends, of getting beaten up and killed or dying of a fucking disease that’s brand fucking new. I have so many questions and nowhere to get any fucking answers. All I get from my mom is that the world doesn’t see me as a person and doesn’t want me in it.’

Richie tried to ignore the fact that Eddie was crying, because it was only making his heart ache.

‘So yeah, I’m really fucking scared.’ Eddie admitted. ‘But I’m not scared of you. The only thing I’m scared of is losing you.’

Richie drew his hand up to Eddie’s face and wiped at the streams running down his cheeks. ‘You won’t lose me, Eds. I promise.’ He kissed him. It tasted of salty tears, like the ocean.

Eddie looked at Richie. And he finally knew how Richie must have been feeling in their relationship, how it felt to be caged and claustrophobic, trapped and berating at the bars, because he finally felt something inside him that threatened to burst. The difference was, Eddie could open the flood gates.

‘I love you, Richie.’

Richie smiled, wide, then he burst out laughing. Before Eddie could speak, he planted a dozen kisses all over his worried face. ‘I love you too, Eddie Spaghetti,’ he said. ‘So fucking much.’

They watched the sun set over the horizon.

\--- 

Eddie climbed down into the old hideout. He scanned around. The familiar beams which Ben had reinforced. The comic books left here by Mike. A few discarded cigarette butts from Bev. The tin of shower caps that Stan had suggested to keep the spiders out of their hair. Eddie wanted to wear one so badly, but he wanted Richie’s approval more, so he took it off. He smiled at the thought, how young and naïve he had once been.

‘Hey,’ Richie greeted, climbing down into the hole. ‘Wow, what a dump.’

‘Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?’ Eddie chuckled. He wandered over to the hammock, still tied. He tugged at the rope. It seemed strong. If only there wasn’t so much dust.

Richie swanned over. Without questioning, he flipped the hammock to its underside. A great cloud of dirt misted onto the floor. Then he scrambled inside.

‘That is so fucking unsanitary,’ Eddie said.

Richie patted the space beside him. ‘Come on, Eds, you know you want to.’

Eddie hesitated, then got in. He lay with his head on Richie’s chest. The ropes creaked. ‘Do you think it’ll hold?’ he asked.

‘Who cares?’ Richie dismissed, starting to play with Eddie’s hair.

Eddie thought about the last time the Losers club had been here. A year ago, when Bill had gathered Eddie, Richie, Mike and Stan to announce his imminent departure. It seemed now like Bill had been gone for an eternity, fallen off the face of the Earth without another word.

‘Richie?’ Eddie began, his heart thudding, ‘Why did you want to meet here?’ In his heart, he heard the answer before Richie gave it.

‘I’m moving.’ Richie said matter-of-factly.

Eddie swallowed. ‘When?’

‘Once school ends. After prom and graduation.’ He tried to maintain the steady rate of his breathing, but each word stabbed.

There was a silence. ‘Okay,’ Eddie said quietly, scrunching the soft cotton of Richie’s shirt in his hands as though his very body might dematerialise any moment.

‘How do you feel about it?’

‘Nowhere can be fucking worse than Derry,’ Richie spluttered. Then he sighed, ‘But fuck, I don’t want to leave you.’

Eddie elbowed him, ‘Then don’t, asshole.’

‘No, that’s not what I meant!’ Richie cried. ‘Ow, by the way. I meant literally leave. Leave the town, leave the state.’

Eddie flinched, ‘You’re leaving the state?’

Richie bit his lip. ‘Yeah. Still east coast, but not Maine.’

They both knew that even if they did try and stay together, it would be nigh on impossible to talk regularly, let alone visit. Worse still, they knew that people had a funny habit of cutting all contact with Derry as soon as they left the town borders.

‘Don’t forget me.’ Eddie whispered.

‘Eds, there’s no fucking way.’ Richie refuted.

‘But there is. Bev. Ben. Bill.’ Eddie listed.

‘It’s you and me, Eddie Spaghetti.’ He squeezed him.

‘Humour me.’ Eddie requested softly. ‘What happens if you do forget?’

Richie thought. He stared upwards, imagining he could look through the earth and the grass and the trees above, up to an ever changing and yet ever constant night sky. ‘Then we’ll find each other.’

‘How do you know?’ Eddie asked cynically.

Richie shifted down in the hammock so that they were eye to eye. ‘Because we have to. There’s no-one but you, Eds. Never has been and never will be.’ He kissed him.

‘I love you, Richie,’ Eddie said, sniffling.

‘You know, I never get tired of hearing that.’ Richie smiled.

‘Say it back, asshole.’ Eddie demanded.

‘I love you too, Eds.’ Richie conceded, then kissed him again and again.

They lay there for a while and talked of other things. They laughed, they teased one another. They kissed and held one another. They didn’t want to talk anymore about the future, because there was nothing much more to say. They only had now, and really, that was all they had ever had.

Stolen moments, life in secrets, conversations in unspoken words. But they had love, a real and beautiful love. Even if it was only for a few more months, that had to be enough. Enough to remember.

\--- 

Eddie felt uncomfortable in a suit. The collar was too tight, the lapels too broad, the trousers too long and the shoes too slippery.

‘Eddie? Are you in there?’ It was Richie, knocking on the other side of the door. ‘We’ve got to go soon. The girls are here.’

Hurriedly, Eddie opened the door and dragged Richie into the room. ‘I can’t do this,’ he said, breathing heavily.

Richie hardly breathed at all. ‘Fucking hell,’ he gushed. ‘I cannot believe you look better than me in a tux.’

Eddie finally looked at Richie. ‘Wow, you look so…’ he hummed. ‘Clean.’

Richie laughed, ‘You’re so fucking weird.’ He kissed him. ‘Let’s just get it over with, okay? We’re not really going for the girls anyway. It’s just one more night for you and me with Stan and Mike.’

‘I wish the four of us could have just spent the night here,’ Eddie moaned, trying and failing to tie a bow tie.

Richie snatched the tie from his hands and wrapped it around Eddie’s neck. ‘You can’t go through all the bullshit that is high school and not go to your fucking prom. So, you’re gonna go down there, give that girl a corsage, get in the car and fucking go.’ He tapped Eddie’s chest, satisfied with his handiwork.

‘Okay,’ Eddie grumbled. He kissed Richie lightly again.

They went downstairs. The girls were giggling in the kitchen. Stan and Mike were secretly siphoning whisky into hip flasks. Eddie gave his date her corsage, and they all headed out into the night.

As it turned out, Eddie had more in common with his date than he expected. They spent a few numbers on the floor, dancing the night away. Richie watched him from the side lines, desperately wishing that he could cut in.

Stan sidled over to Richie and handed him a glass of spiked punch. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey,’ Richie said, not taking his eyes off Eddie.

‘How’re you holding up?’ Stan said.

‘Fucking peachy,’ Richie said, taking a long glug at his drink. ‘Just a few more days and I can say goodbye to this fucking town.’ He continued to stare at Eddie and the girl.

‘Richie,’ Stan said quietly. ‘Does he know?’

‘Know what?’ Richie asked nonchalantly.

‘That you love him.’ Stan said bluntly.

Richie almost spat out his drink. ‘What?’

Stan rolled his eyes. ‘Jesus, Richie. It’s so fucking obvious. You’re in love with him, you always have been.’

Richie considered refuting this. He traced the plastic rim of his cup with his thumb. ‘How long have you known?’

Smiling smugly, Stan shrugged, ‘A while.’ He paused. ‘So, does he know?’

Richie knew he had to be careful not to break Eddie’s trust, not to reveal anything on Eddie’s behalf. But he could reveal his own truth, with some omission. ‘Yeah, he knows.’

Stan widened his eyes, ‘Oh. That was not what I was expecting you to say.’ He chuckled. ‘I thought I was about to give a whole speech and it turns out I prepped the wrong one. How long has he known?’

Richie laughed, ‘Years.’ The thought almost made him cry. Because it really had been years.

He’d spent time pushing Eddie to come out of the closet with no success, trying to get Eddie to accept himself, arguing with Eddie over insignificant details, when all this time they should have just been enjoying it, knowing that eventually it had to end. There were no happy endings in Derry.

Yet, he’d been so lucky to have the years that he had with Eddie, every kiss, every touch, every cuss and tease and playful hit. He wished he could take back all his frustrations, all his anger, and just use all that empty time and space to tell Eddie he loved him over and over again.

‘I bet you’re gonna miss him.’ Stan said. ‘And me, obviously.’

Richie smirked. ‘Course I’ll miss you, Staniel. And Mike. I still miss Bill. And Ben and Bev, wherever they are now.’ He nodded slowly. ‘But yeah, I’m really gonna fucking miss Eddie.’

Stan slapped him on the shoulder. They were silent for a moment, then he said, ‘Thanks for telling me, man. You know, the truth.’

‘Well, while we’re on the topic of truth-bombs, I have another one for you.’ Richie seethed.

Stan looked concerned. ‘What?’

‘I fucked your mom.’ Richie grinned.

Stan burst out laughing and jostled him. ‘Right, my date is waving. I better go and give her a dance. You gonna be okay?’

Richie nodded, and Stan left. As he walked away, Richie noticed Eddie swanning over to him. There was a thin layer of sweat on his brow, his jacket slung over his arm, top button of his shirt undone.

‘I could use some air,’ Eddie announced, grinning. ‘Should we go outside?’

They wandered round to the side of the gym where the shadows were cast long. The music came through the wall muffled and tinny.

‘Thanks for making me come.’ Eddie said, leaning up against the wall.

‘God, Eddie, don’t be so crude.’ Richie snorted, moving to stand in front of him. ‘I’m glad you’re having a good time.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Eddie asked.

Richie shuffled. ‘Guess it’s really hitting me now that I’m leaving.’

Eddie nodded. ‘Yeah.’ He glanced over his shoulder and, satisfied that they were alone, tilted his head up to kiss him. ‘Hey, I’ve got something for you.’

Carefully, he reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out two old sets of photographs spat out of a photobooth. They were identical.

‘You kept them.’ Richie said, delicately plucking one from Eddie’s hands. He turned it over to see Eddie’s neat handwriting: R+E. ‘What made you change your mind about destroying them?’

Eddie shrugged. ‘I guess I just wanted us both to have something, you know, so it can’t all disappear.’

Richie carefully tucked it into his jacket pocket. He kissed Eddie, deeply. ‘You know, you’re not a bad dancer.’

‘I wish we could have had a dance,’ Eddie admitted. ‘Just one.’

Richie stepped back and extended his hand. ‘Then let’s.’ When Eddie looked panicked, he laughed, ‘Not in there. Right here. We can still hear the music, kind of.’

Eddie took his hand. They embraced and started to step. Richie’s rhythm was appalling, but Eddie didn’t care. With his head pressed up against Richie’s chest, he could hear his heartbeat. With his hand in Richie’s hand, he felt more at home than he ever had before.

‘I’m sorry, Eds.’ Richie said suddenly.

‘What for?’ Eddie asked.

‘All of it. Everything. All the stupid fights. All the times I pushed you.’ He puffed his chest. ‘But I think I know why I did those things now.’

‘Tell me.’ Eddie pressed.

‘I thought if you could accept yourself, if you could accept me, then I could accept me too. But nothing you ever did was ever enough for me to believe that I could really accept myself. And that’s because I didn’t want to believe it. Because then I’d actually have to do something about it.’

Eddie tightened his grip on Richie. ‘But I do accept you, Richie. I always have.’

‘I know,’ Richie said happily, tears in his eyes. ‘For the first fucking time in five years, I do know that.’

‘I love you, Trashmouth.’ Eddie said.

‘I love you too, Eds.’

Richie rested his chin on Eddie’s head and closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear the thought that this might be the only dance they ever shared. Then he smiled to himself, because that was exactly what he’d thought about their first kiss.

\--- 

Eddie walked along the kissing bridge. He ran his hand along the wooden panels and thought about the moment when he had stood there, and Richie had leaned in for the very first time. He smirked when he thought about how he’d recoiled in shock, how Richie had pelted.

Neither of them could have known how wonderful the next few years could be together. Even in a world which was out to get them, even in a group of friends that never got to know a side of them, even in families which were consistently lied to, they managed to find a little bubble of happiness and love.

‘Hey, Eddie.’ Stan greeted, wandering up the pathway.

‘Hey,’ Eddie responded.

‘Last day in Derry,’ Stan whistled.

Eddie nodded. His room was packed up, his college acceptance letter for NYU a gleaming golden ticket to take him far and away to brighter and better things. This was the last day he had to spend in a Derry without Richie. Derry without Richie was closer to Hell than he’d ever felt down in the bowels of the Neibolt house.

He thought about the last day that he had spent with Richie in Derry.

‘This is really it,’ he had said to Richie.

‘This is really it. One more day, Eds. What do you want to do with it?’

Eddie had ideas. He showed Richie that he’d brought his old bicycle out so that they could go for one last cycle ride. They went to the mall and bought vanilla ice cream. They went to the arcade and got uncomfortably competitive at Street Fighter. They went to the comic book store and argued over who would win in a fight. They went to their special spot down at the quarry and watched the sun go down.

Then they’d gone back to Eddie’s house, on a rare occasion when Sonia was not at home, and Richie had been invited in.

They’d gone to Eddie’s bedroom, kissed each other, undressed each other and made love for the very first time. It was an uncertain and messy affair, full of laughs and teases and swearing. It was completely perfect in all its imperfection.

‘What time is it?’ Eddie had asked.

‘Don’t ask stupid, sensible questions like that.’ Richie had groaned.

‘You have to go, don’t you?’ Eddie had said miserably.

‘Yeah, I do.’ Richie sighed, starting to get dressed.

Eddie’s chest heaved. ‘Fuck, I knew this would be hard but –’

‘This is the fucking worst,’ Richie agreed. He turned and kissed Eddie.

Eddie gripped his wrists, ‘Remember me,’ he wished quietly.

Knowing he couldn’t promise anything, Richie simply said, ‘I love you.’

‘I love you.’ Eddie embraced him.

‘I love you,’ Richie said again, kissing Eddie’s forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his neck, his nose and his lips.

‘Goodbye, Trashmouth.’

‘Goodbye, Eddie Spaghetti.’

Richie had driven away as Eddie, Stan and Mike waved him off. Eddie had gone home and waited for the call once Richie reached his destination, but it never came.

Eddie wrote a letter, a letter which he ensured contained nothing that would be inappropriate for either of the Tozier parents to read should it be intercepted. There was no reply.

Days went by, then weeks, then months. Eddie never heard a word. As he stood now with Stan, he was certain that this would be the last time he would see Stan and remember who he was. The thought terrified him.

‘I know there are things I want to forget about this place,’ Eddie said. ‘But God, there’s so much I wish I could remember.’

Stan shrugged, ‘Maybe you will.’

Eddie shook his head. ‘When Richie left, that was the nail in the coffin. I knew it. I knew that if anyone on this green fucking earth would remember me, it was Richie fucking Tozier. And the asshole couldn’t.’

He wasn’t sure which was worse: that he was here mourning the loss of their relationship, or that Richie didn’t know that it had ever happened at all. He didn’t want Richie to be in pain, but God, Eddie didn’t want to lose his memories of what they shared. Soon they would be traded, though, for a college education.

‘Will you answer me something honestly?’ Stan asked.

Eddie furrowed his brow. ‘Depends on the question.’

‘Were you in love with him?’

Eddie felt his palms beginning to sweat.

‘I knew for sure that he was in love with you,’ Stan continued, a little smug, ‘but you were harder to read.’

Eddie shuffled, ‘How’d you know he was in love with me?’

Stan clicked his tongue. ‘For starters, because I’m not fucking blind. Also, I knew him too well for too long. So, I asked him, and he told me the truth.’

Richie had never told Eddie this before he left. Eddie was dumbfounded. ‘What exactly did he say?’

Stan sighed, ‘That he loved you, that you knew he loved you, and that he was really gonna fucking miss you. Oh, and that he fucked my mom.’

Eddie’s face crumpled. ‘What a fucking asshole,’ he said quietly.

Stan smiled, ‘Yeah, he was.’

Eddie wiped his face, ‘Oh, that fucker might not remember who we are, but I’ll bet he’s still an asshole.’

Stan laughed. ‘You’re right.’

There was a silence. Stan watched as a bird settled on a nearby tree.

‘I loved him,’ Eddie admitted. ‘We loved each other. We always did. Even when we were being assholes to each other.’ He chuckled, ‘Especially when we were being assholes to each other. And before you ask, yeah, he knew I loved him. We were,’ he exhaled raggedly. ‘We were together.’

‘Wait,’ Stan reeled. ‘Seriously?’

Eddie nodded. ‘I’m sorry we never told you.’

Stan sighed, ‘Can’t say I don’t get it. Derry’s not exactly,’ he stopped, ‘well, you know. God, it must really suck that he’s gone.’

Eddie sniffed. ‘It only hit me the other day that when I left Derry, there’d be nothing left to show for it all. No trace that he and I were ever here, let alone in love. So, I came down to this bridge. And look,’ he pointed to the wood just below where they were standing. A faded, but definite R+E in Richie’s handwriting. ‘The fucking asshole beat me to it.’

Stan bent down and ran his hands over the wood. ‘Unbelievable. Do you know when he carved it?’

Eddie grinned, ‘You know, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think I do. Crazy at it sounds, I think he carved it that summer. You know, that summer.’

Stan blinked hard, ‘That was five years ago. You were together then? Through that?’

Eddie shook his head. ‘No, but we got together only shortly after. The smug fucker put that there before.’

Stan stood. ‘Sounds about right.’

‘And tomorrow I’m gonna forget him, like he forgot me,’ Eddie sighed. ‘I’ll forget this carving. I’ll forget this conversation. I’ll forget the first time he kissed me and the last. I’ll forget you and Mike, and all the Losers who forgot me first. I’ll forget that fucking clown and the leper. God, I don’t even know who I’ll be when you take all that away.’

‘You’ll still be Eddie Kaspbrak,’ Stan said flatly. ‘I’ll still be Stan Uris. He’ll still be Richie Trashmouth Tozier. Bill will be Bill, Mike will be Mike, Ben will be Ben and Bev will be Bev.’

Eddie stroked the scar on his hand. He remembered when Richie had looked at his own love line. ‘Look at that, one true love,’ he’d said.

‘You never know,’ Stan mused, ‘maybe we’ll come back to each other, like we all said we would. Maybe if we do, we’ll remember.’

‘I hope so.’

A wind rippled through the trees of Derry. On the east coast, a wind rippled through the curls of Richie’s hair as he stared at a set of photographs he never remembered taking, arms hung over the fence of his back garden.

There he was, kissing a boy who’s face he couldn’t place. He turned the picture over: R+E. He couldn’t think, and it made his brain hurt, like a brain freeze from eating vanilla ice cream too quickly.

It felt like a black wall came crashing down whenever he tried to flesh out more of the memory, more of the boy, more of the day, more of the feeling when their lips had evidently touched.

There was all but nothing, only one word which sprang to mind, and he had no idea what it meant. As he tucked the picture into his pocket and stared out over the fence to the greenery beyond, he said to himself, ‘Why the fuck does that only make me think of spaghetti?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of this chapter! Having so much fun writing this.
> 
> Follow this link for my fluff/smut sub-fic 'Richie's Last Day' which covers Reddie's first time in more detail :) consistent universe and characters just wanted to keep the smut separate - 18+ only!
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046691


	3. Still You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third part of Richie and Eddie's story, a chance encounter in New York City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this piece. Many angst.

Eddie thought that he would like college. He didn’t.

He thought he’d find a sense of belonging, something to fill the void that occupied so much of his heart, of a childhood and adolescence that he could scarcely recall. He didn’t. He had never felt quite so isolated.

He thought he would discover who he was. He did. Within a few weeks of living with his first roommate, a loud-mouthed, overgrown orangutan of a football player, Eddie discovered that he was a neurotic hypochondriac who was damn near impossible to live with.

He thought he would make good friends and bad decisions. He sort of did. He made two friends: a boy named Cal and a girl named Myra. They could not have been more opposite from one another or hated one another more. Both were walking bad decisions.

The worst decision was becoming Myra’s boyfriend. He wondered how it had happened, and sadly settled on the reality that he’d been drawn to the fact that she was meticulous and clean, more obsessively than he was, which was not an easy thing to find.

She talked an awful lot. It wasn’t all bad: she liked to talk about the news and current affairs, though she tended to believe everything that she read and had a generally pessimistic outlook. Crucially, she liked to talk to Eddie, which was nice, even if sometimes it felt that she was talking _at_ him, and Eddie liked the noise.

She was a big girl; there was something comforting and matronly about her, with an edge of authority, like a dinner lady or a librarian or a paediatric nurse. If she told you to eat, you ate. If she told you to hush, you hushed. If she told you to take your medicine, you took it. It made Eddie feel safe despite the rush and filth of the big city.

‘I’ll be back before midnight,’ Eddie promised, his face almost purple as he laced up his boots.

‘You know the rule.’ Myra shook her head condescendingly. ‘If I’ve already made a dinner, then you stay home, and you eat it.’

She used to joke to Eddie that it was like they were married even before they got together. She called herself Mrs Kaspbrak. She cooked his meals, she laundered his clothes, she kissed his cheeks and held him close, she constantly told him to go to bed and rest because he looked tired, looked sick. He believed her. 

‘I haven’t seen Cal in months. He’s only in town for the night. I’m going to see him. End of story.’ Eddie smacked his hands together to punctuate his words.

‘But I made dinner,’ Myra stomped her foot.

She drove him crazy. She was possessive and demanded his attention and meaningless words; she hated when he spent time without her. They argued a lot, shouting matches which lasted for hours.

Eddie was never sure quite where the frustrations came from, all exploding out of him like fire from a dragon. Myra was a formidable competitor, harsh and critical, with a catalogue of catchphrases to shut down almost any of Eddie’s original thoughts.

He hated arguing with her, but he loved arguing with her. It made him feel something.

‘I’m having dinner with Cal.’ Eddie smacked his lips together. ‘Either throw it out or, I don’t know, we can have it for leftovers.’

‘I’m not throwing out a perfectly good meal. And I can’t even believe that you would suggest that we eat reheated food, so help me God, Edward.’

Eddie darted for his coat, knowing that if he didn’t leave soon, he would never escape. ‘Then just fucking eat it all yourself, because I’m going out.’

‘If you open that door, Edward, you are going to be in so much trouble.’ Myra seethed.

He hesitated, then smiled as he opened the door. He couldn’t think of a single punishment she could dole out that wouldn’t be worth spending this night with Cal. He left. He felt as though a breeze chilled his face, like a tension slipped from his shoulders.

Cal met him in the West Village. It was his favourite part of town: clean, pretty. It was where people always seemed to live in the movies.

Unlike Myra or Eddie, Cal was a buoyant optimist, a six-foot-four beanpole with shock blonde hair and a piercing in his left nostril which he’d given himself at a party during college.

Nobody, least of all Myra, understood why Cal and Eddie were such good friends. They had shockingly little in common and had starkly contrasting personalities, but there was a firm glue which was their exact same taste in humour, and this was why they often found themselves at the same comedy club when Cal came back into town.

‘What’s on tonight?’ Eddie asked once they’d sat down at their favourite table with their drinks.

Cal fumbled for the flyer. He read, ‘The show is called ‘Trashmouth’.’ Cal made a face. ‘I’m not sure what that means. Reviews are good though. You heard of it?’

Eddie felt a wall crash down in his brain, like the doors closing in Star Trek. He rubbed at his temples. His brain crashed with curse words. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered. When he realised Cal was staring, he said, ‘Weirdly, it rings a bell, but I can’t think where from.’

An Emcee stepped up to the microphone. ‘Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to tonight’s show. We’re very excited to bring to the stage our performer; he’s an up-and-coming star. Please put your hands together for Richie Tozier!’

A man stepped out of the wings, one hand raised up in greeting to the crowd, a great beaming smile plastered on his stubbled jaw. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-six years old, with a mop of curled dark hair and square glasses. He wore a heinous Hawaiian shirt and shoes without socks.

Eddie felt like he was experiencing déjà vu. It was something that happened to him a lot, like when the boy in the front row of his math class stuttered on his questions, like when he walked past a souvenir stand tied with a dozen balloons, like when he saw a kid grappling with an inhaler.

‘Good evening all. I’m Richie Tozier, but everyone calls me Trashmouth. Don’t know quite where the name’s from, I’m fucking hoping it wasn’t from my first girlfriend regarding my technique.’ The audience tittered. ‘But then again, my best friend’s mom was a harsh critic.’ The audience scoffed, disgusted but still laughing. ‘I don’t remember a lot from when I was a kid. People say that’s weird, but fuck, I can hardly remember last weekend and you expect me to remember my fucking childhood?’

Eddie stared throughout the set. There was something eerily familiar about him which almost made him nauseous. The way he punctuated his cuss words as though he deeply enjoyed them, the way he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his poor posture, the ‘your mom’ style of jokes. He was sure the name was one he’d heard before. Richie Tozier. Trashmouth.

‘Thank you very much, New York. Goodnight!’ Richie signed off and disappeared into the wings.

Cal cackled, ‘Hey, he wasn’t bad. Little rough around the edges, but hey, you’ve got to have an angle.’ He looked over at Eddie. ‘Are you okay, Eddie?’

Eddie snapped back into the room. ‘Yeah, all good,’ he said, unconvincingly.

Eddie saw things in his head, vague hallucinations, like a memory test of random objects. A fanny-pack. A comic book. A bicycle. A paddle-ball. An arcade game. He didn’t know from where they had generated, nor why he felt such a kindred connection to each one, as though they held more value than what they appeared.

Cal and Eddie rounded off their night. Eddie checked the time and saw that he would be home before midnight, which could sate some of Myra’s wrath.

As he climbed into the cab, he thought about the comedian Richie Tozier. He smiled to himself, ‘He was pretty funny.’

\---

Richie hated working in the coffee shop. He hated the stupid apron. He hated his nametag. He hated the frothing machine and the little coffee beans and the sugar syrups. It was better than his other job at the pet grooming salon. It was better than the valet parking. But god, nothing held a candle to performing stand up.

He’d spent a few years building up an audience in Rhode Island, before making the transition to the big city in search of stardom. It hadn’t been as forthcoming as he hoped. But he couldn’t stay home. Not anymore.

‘Richie! Richie!’ his mother had called from upstairs. There was a sickly doting in her voice, artificial. Richie knew that it meant trouble for him.

‘Yeah?’ Richie said, bumbling into his bedroom with his hands in his pockets. As he looked around at his lot, a young twenty-something, with no steady job and no real friends to cling to, a forgotten history and a hostile home life, he wished that he’d gone to college after all.

‘Whose are these?’ Mrs Tozier asked, holding up a pair of boxers on the end of a pencil.

Richie shrugged, ‘Mine.’

‘Well, I didn’t buy them,’ she said, her voice raising in pitch and lowering in volume.

‘I bought them.’ Richie said, knowing this was unlikely to be believed.

‘They’re too big for you, sweetie.’ She blinked slowly.

‘Was hoping I’d grow into them.’ Richie joked.

‘Sit down, Richie,’ Mrs Tozier said, and he did. She sat beside him and put her arms around his shoulders. ‘Is there something you’d like to tell me?’

Richie’s throat tightened. He tried to look stupid, doe-eyed. ‘Like what?’

Mrs Tozier pursed her lips. ‘Well, over the years, I’ve noticed certain behaviours. Behaviours indicative of a particular lifestyle. Do you understand me?’

Richie tried to look flabbergasted. ‘Mom, you literally met my last girlfriend. And what about that girl from the other week? And Cindy and Karen. Rachel. Marissa.’ He listed, feeling oddly proud of himself through the burgeoning fear.

It wasn’t a lie. Richie had dated a good few women. He’d slept with a good few women. Sure, none of them were true love, or even a close approximation, but it hadn’t exactly been a chore, even if he hadn’t always behaved classily.

His mom relaxed. ‘You’re right, sweetie. I’m sorry, sometimes I get so wrapped up in my head. You see another sign and it just piles onto the list, but then when you look at them individually, it’s not much.’

Richie wasn’t sure if this apology was genuine. Still, she’d been sweet so far, saccharine almost. It made him think that maybe, just maybe, he could tell her the truth.

Mrs Tozier smiled and squeezed the arms wrapped around her son. ‘Just know, darling, that if you were, you know, having _thoughts_,’ she weighted the last word meaningfully.

Richie’s heart began to lift.

‘We’d be very disappointed,’ she’d finished. Then she’d smiled and left the room.

Richie stared at what felt like the eight-thousandth cup of coffee he was expected to make today with malice. He was so tempted to crush it into his hands, crumpling the cardboard with that satisfying pop. He served the customer and groaned.

He went back to the counter to greet the next. He was staring at his phone, an earpiece in his ear, and he was wearing a suit. Richie immediately disliked him.

‘Sir, can I help you?’ Richie asked with a sigh.

The man looked up, pulled the earpiece from his ear and shoved his phone in his pocket. ‘Sorry,’ he said, with a kind smile. He made eye contact with Richie as he ordered, ‘I’ll have a latte. Extra shot.’

Richie knew those eyes. He could swear he knew those eyes. He felt like he could see his own reflection staring back at him, a younger version of himself, waving him into memories he couldn’t access.

‘Do I know you?’ the man asked, cocking his head. ‘You look really familiar.’ Richie was about to reciprocate the sentiment, when the man snapped his fingers, ‘Oh! You’re the comedian. Badmouth, or something. I saw your show a few years ago. Richard…?’ he struggled.

Richie smiled. Even if it wasn’t what he’d thought, it was still nice to be recognised. ‘Richie, actually. Tozier. And it’s Trashmouth.’

‘Trashmouth, that’s it.’ The man nodded.

‘Career is going excellently as you can see,’ Richie said, displaying his apron with disdain. He picked up the cup for the latte. ‘What was the name again? Eddie?’

The man reeled. ‘I didn’t give it.’

‘Oh,’ Richie snorted. ‘Don’t know where I got that from, then. What is the name?’

‘Eddie,’ he said, with a strange choke in his voice. 

Richie paused. Then he laughed awkwardly, ‘Well that’s a fucking weird coincidence. Fuck me. Okay, one latte coming up, Eds.’

There it was again, the wall. Black and opaque, a chalkboard with the nickname ‘Eds’ scrawled on it. Something blocked, something his brain couldn’t let him see.

He seethed and rubbed his forehead. When he looked over at the man, at Eddie, he saw that he was doubled over in almost the exact same position. They caught eyes. Richie saw that Eddie’s were both curious and fearful. Richie’s stomach flipped: he knew that fear. He’d seen it before.

Eddie was afraid. He was afraid because of the alarming snap he had just felt in his wrist, as though it had been broken. He rubbed at his forearm. Obviously, it was fine. But that pain had felt so real, so tangible.

Richie watched Eddie ritualistically rub his arm and went back to making the coffee. Words scribbled on the chalkboard in his brain. Gazebo. Greywater. Staph infection. He sniffed the air. The aroma was pungent.

‘Shit,’ he said as he handed the coffee over to Eddie, ‘I think I might have put vanilla in that by mistake.’

Eddie took the coffee gingerly. He smelled it. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Take it on the house. Just in case.’ Richie said, smiling.

Eddie’s brain smashed him with images again. A large house. A deep well. A red balloon. He shook them away. ‘Thanks.’ He turned to leave and felt as though a rope was pulling him back. He turned suddenly, scratching his temple. ‘Have you got any gigs coming up soon?’

Richie swallowed, ‘Uh, yeah. I’m playing Fred’s Downtown next Saturday night.’

‘Maybe I’ll see you there.’ Eddie said, surprising himself. Then he left.

Richie stared at the empty doorway. There was something deeply disconcerting about what he had just experienced. His subconscious knew something that he didn’t, like a vivid dream he’d woken up from and couldn’t quite remember.

His heart fluttered, and for a moment, Richie remembered what it felt like to be in love.

\---

‘God, I never come all the way Downtown,’ Cal commented, settling himself down in one of the red pleather chairs. He sipped at a martini. ‘Hope we get some special treatment from your new friend after the show.’

Eddie squirmed, ‘He’s not exactly my friend. I just bumped into him and remembered we enjoyed it last time.’

Eddie felt like he remembered so much more. In the nights following meeting Richie Tozier, he’d been plagued with nightmares of lepers, spiders and clowns, and Richie had been in almost every single one. He shuddered.

Richie came out onto the stage after he was announced and started his set. As he scanned the crowd, he spotted Eddie sat with Cal. The fluttering feeling returned, along with an uncomfortable surge of jealousy. He smirked at Eddie, then performed the rest, periodically glancing over to see if Eddie was laughing. He was.

At the end of the set, Eddie went to the bar to get himself and Cal another drink.

‘What’s your poison?’ Richie asked, sidling up to Eddie. He grinned, feeling strangely connected to Eddie, as though he’d known him for a long time.

‘Martinis tonight.’ Eddie said, holding up the two drinks.

Richie leaned over the bar and hollered at the staff. ‘Hey, Ralph? Put these on my tab. And can I get one too?’ The man nodded, and Richie stood up. ‘As a thanks for coming,’ he said. 

‘Thanks,’ Eddie said, strangely touched. ‘Great set tonight. Better than the first one, I thought.’

Richie was handed his drink. He swirled it and swore that he could smell buttery popcorn. ‘Good, I’m glad. I’ve figured out the stage persona now; Trashmouth, I mean. Feel like I’m getting better at bridging the gap between him and me.’

Images again, flooding Eddie’s brain. A bridge. A sunset. A hammock. An ice-cream cone. A photobooth. He was staggered at how quickly, how lucidly they appeared. Not only the visual clarity, but viscerally, somewhere tugging on the strings of his heart.

‘Do you want to come and sit down?’ Eddie offered.

Richie looked over at the tall blonde man sat at Eddie’s table. He winced a little before asking, ‘I’m not interrupting, am I? I mean, you two aren’t,’ he raised his eyebrows and waggled two of his fingers.

Eddie laughed, ‘What? No! No, no, we’re just friends.’ He considered that this might be a good opportunity to tell Richie about Myra, but he held his tongue.

Richie was relieved, ridiculously relieved. ‘Sure, I’d love to come and sit. In that order.’

Eddie screwed up his nose and snorted, ‘Gross. I thought you said you and Trashmouth were different people.’

Richie smirked, ‘Maybe more like two sides of the same person. Gotta come from somewhere.’

Richie found Cal easy to talk to, as did most people, but he only focused so much on Cal so that it wasn’t obvious how interested he was in getting to know Eddie. It felt like a predicament he’d navigated before, but he couldn’t think from when.

Eddie was happy to see his two friends getting along, but he resented every time that Richie’s attention diverted to Cal. It was a familiar feeling, but he couldn’t think from when.

‘Oh, you’ll never guess who’s just around the corner.’ Cal tapped Eddie’s shoulder. ‘Kelly Powell.’

‘From college?’ Eddie asked, easily placing the face. She was a nice enough girl, bubbly, fun-loving.

‘Want to go and say hi?’ he asked. ‘It’s that little club called Domino.’ 

Richie nodded, ‘It’s a nice place. Want to go check it out, Eds?’

Eddie wasn’t much of a clubber, but he did like to dance. Even though he wasn’t particularly interested in seeing Kelly, he knew that Cal was, which meant he could spend more time with Richie. ‘Sure, okay.’

Domino was, to Eddie’s delight, a club with live music, mostly swing, funk and Motown. It was far more fun to dance to. After another martini, he found himself happily on the dancefloor.

Richie was a hopeless mover, but he didn’t seem to care. He smiled at Eddie. ‘You’re not a bad dancer,’ he said.

As soon as the words left his lips, he hurtled back to a night from his youth. Snippets of conversation. ‘You look so clean.’ ‘I bet you’re gonna miss him.’ ‘I fucked your mom.’ ‘I wish we could have had a dance.’ ‘I love you, Trashmouth.’

Eddie felt like it was an overdriven computer trying to load too many files at once. Whisky flask. Bowtie. Corsage. Punchbowl. Streamers. Gymnasium. Band. Shadows. He felt dizzied, drunk, like he needed to sit down.

The men looked at each other. Richie grabbed Eddie by the arm and pulled him to the side of the room. ‘It happens to you too. Doesn’t it?’

Eddie’s brain melted. ‘What?’

Richie bit his lip, aware that if he was wrong, he would sound like an insane person. ‘Like a wall crashes down in your head when you talk to me.’

Eddie’s eyes widened. Slowly, he nodded. ‘I get it a lot, though. Not just when I’m with you.’ He stumbled, ‘With you it’s not just a wall, it’s like there’s,’ he hesitated.

‘Voices?’ Richie asked, just as Eddie finished his sentence with ‘Pictures.’

They both stepped back. Richie blinked a couple of times and pushed the glasses up his nose. ‘Okay, I’m drunk enough to ask. What did you just get when the wall came down?’

Eddie made a face, ‘A bunch of stuff from my prom night.’ He was going to ask why, but then he saw quite how pale Richie’s face had become. He gulped, ‘You too?’

Richie screwed up his nose, ‘Did we go to the same school or something?’

Eddie thought, ‘I don’t,’ he scratched his head, ‘really remember where I went to school.’

‘Me neither,’ Richie said, almost sounding excited. ‘Isn’t that really fucking weird? I remember jack shit before I turned eighteen. It’s just tiny fucking fragments.’

Eddie was scared. He felt like he should run, but he was compelled not to leave Richie’s side. If anyone had any answers for why he was the way he was, why he was so different, why so many of his memories seemed veiled over, then Richie Tozier could.

‘Fucking hell, I need a cigarette,’ Richie said, patting his pockets. ‘Do you smoke?’

Eddie shook his head, ‘But I could use some air,’ he said, and as he wandered outside, more of his prom night came back to him again, clear as the night that it had been.

He remembered going outside, he remembered standing in the long shadows behind the gymnasium, listening to the band through the walls, a boy standing in front of him. A boy with dark curled hair and glasses, a stubbled jaw and a smirk. He felt a stone plummet into his stomach and churn the acid, and he began to remember.

He remembered a secluded spot down at the quarry. He remembered fingers interwoven and raking through his hair. He remembered a thousand kisses on his lips.

Richie turned around, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. Concerned by Eddie’s wan stupor, staring at him with a multitude of conflicting emotions, he took the cigarette from his mouth and asked, ‘You alright, Eddie Spaghetti?’

Then Richie’s face dropped, and his body went into stiff shock as though he’d been hit by a subway train. ‘Holy fucking shit,’ he said, as the memories swirled into his brain and slotted into position, like a perspective art installation.

He remembered ragged breathing and quick heartbeats. He remembered the screech of bicycle tires and the whirr of a photobooth. He remembered saying ‘I love you’ for the first and last time in his life.

Eddie felt like he was thirteen years old all over again. In a voice not much more than a whisper, disbelieving, he managed to say, ‘Hi, Trashmouth.’

Richie laughed. He came towards Eddie and reached out to touch him, as though he were a mirage he couldn’t make sense of. Then he pulled him close into a tight embrace. ‘Hi, Eds,’ he breathed.

They both burst into tears, not with sadness or even with joy, but from being so deeply consumed with rediscovering each other, resurfacing years of friendship and love, that it poured out of them in a frantic and majestic wave.

‘Fuck,’ Richie said, sniffing as he let Eddie go. He stepped back to take him I properly. He nodded approvingly, ‘You aged better than your mom.’

‘Fuck you, dude,’ Eddie said, exhaling heavily.

Richie shook his head. ‘This is fucking surreal. I don’t,’ he chuckled, ‘I don’t really know what to say.’

‘That’s okay, I don’t either,’ Eddie said hurriedly. ‘I’m not,’ he rubbed his temples, ‘I can barely think.’

Richie nodded defiantly. ‘Let’s get a cab.’ As though it were second nature, he gripped Eddie by the hand and started to drag him out to the street.

Eddie looked down at the hand in his. The last time he had held it, he’d been a kid. Eighteen years old. God, they were nearly thirty now. The hands had grown, roughened and toughened, harder lines and darker hue, firmer grip.

Richie hailed a cab quickly and climbed inside. Eddie knew he shouldn’t get in.

He shouldn’t leave Cal and Kelly without warning. He shouldn’t go anywhere without letting someone know where he was. He told Myra that he would be home an hour ago. After all, he didn’t know this man. He’d known the boy, but Richie Tozier was a stranger after twelve years apart.

‘Are you coming, Spaghetti?’ Richie called, poking his head out the window.

He hated that nickname. The hatred washed through him so beautifully, like lake water. ‘Yeah,’ Eddie said.

They didn’t say much in the cab, aware that they were still not alone, lost in their own heads, trying to gather words into sentences, stills into video.

Richie felt wonderfully, gloriously alive. Giddy, almost. Eddie. His Eddie. Eddie. Eddie what? He hit the wall. ‘Fuck,’ Richie said with a dark, thick edge.

‘What?’ Eddie asked nervously.

‘I don’t remember,’ Richie balked, ‘your last name.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘Jesus, why the fuck can’t I remember your last name?’

Realisation sat heavy in Eddie, like an oversized meal. ‘It’s not all come back. We only remember pieces of each other.’ He sighed.

While it was certain that Richie remembered him, he couldn’t be sure that he remembered their relationship. It would probably be best if he didn’t, but part of him hoped that he would.

‘Kaspbrak,’ Richie said quietly. ‘Eddie Kaspbrak.’

Eddie nodded. The cab stopped. ‘Where are we?’ he asked.

‘My place.’ Richie said, getting out. ‘Come on.’

Eddie was apprehensive going into Richie’s apartment. ‘Huh,’ he said as the door opened.

‘What?’

‘It’s a lot cleaner than I expected. Based on your room as a kid and you know,’ he raised an eyebrow, ‘your personality.’

Richie shrugged, ‘My ex was a bit of a neat freak. Guess I got into the habit.’ When Eddie chuckled, he groaned, ‘Oh God, you were too, weren’t you?’

Eddie nodded, smiling a little smugly. He sat down on Richie’s sofa and Richie sat beside him.

‘Guess I have a type,’ Richie snorted.

Eddie winced. He did remember. That meant it wasn’t a fabrication from his brain, some elaborate lie or miscommunication, a wrong attribution of moments to the boy in front of him which had really been shared with a girl.

He, Eddie Kaspbrak, had once fallen in love with Richie Tozier. Richie Tozier had loved him back.

Knowing this was an unsurprising surprise, like the jack-in-the-box that you know must ultimately leap out, like the death of a grandparent. It was something he’d always known, and never thought he would have to face again.

‘Do you want anything?’ Richie offered suddenly. He felt like he would give anything to Eddie right now. A drink. A long shower. A three-course meal. A bed for the night. A bed for the rest of his life. He laughed, ‘I’m not sure how to host in this situation.’

He looked at Eddie, admiring him as though he were a statue in marble, a symphony played by a thirty-piece orchestra. It felt so right to have him sat there only inches away. He felt like Eddie pumped oxygen into the room and for the first time in his adult life, he could breathe.

‘I don’t know what I want,’ Eddie mumbled. He dared to look at Richie. As he caught himself in Richie’s eyes, he felt himself topple, like he was jumping off a cliff, like Richie had picked him up and thrown him into the water.

Richie knew what he wanted. There was no hesitation, no insecurity, no question in his mind. He leaned over and kissed Eddie, with all the love that he hadn’t been able to give to someone else, with all the passion that he’d had the first time he’d kissed Eddie, and the last.

They broke the kiss. Eddie looked at Richie, terrified and completely lost, helplessly smitten, wrapped in a confusing bundle of love and guilt. He knew he should leave. He knew that it was wrong to be there with him, with Myra undoubtedly waiting up at home.

Eddie pulled off his shirt. Gleeful, Richie pulled off his own and climbed on top of Eddie, kissing him hard and hurried, squeezing the toned flesh of his waistline, making up for years of lost time. 

Eddie’s skittering hands reached for Richie’s belt.

Richie bit Eddie’s neck and mumbled, ‘Bedroom.’

It was after dawn that they finally slept.

\--- 

Eddie wandered up to Richie’s door. He was hoping to see him, having scarpered the morning after their illicit liaison a week ago. He had toyed with disappearing; it seemed the easier option, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Richie. He needed closure this time, needed to end it.

‘Hey!’ Richie greeted, opening the door. He beckoned Eddie to come and sit with him on the sofa. ‘Thought for a minute that I might not see you again,’ he laughed, trying to hide his genuine concern. He bit his lip. ‘I had a good time the other night.’

Eddie sighed. Honesty bust out, ‘I did too.’

Richie grinned. ‘More keeps coming back to me, you know. Like,’ he jumped up and ran to the dresser. He scrambled, then pulled something out and placed it in Eddie’s hands. ‘Do you remember these?’

Eddie held the set of photographs up. He flipped them over: R+E. ‘I remember,’ he said quietly.

‘I’m remembering other people too,’ Richie said, scattering over the room. He had so much energy, bounding like a puppy. ‘Like Stan. Do you remember Stan? And um, was it Will?’

‘Bill.’ Eddie said, with a small laugh. ‘Bill Denbrough.’ Then he shook his head, ‘No, that’s an author. I must be getting mixed up.’

Richie jumped back down next to Eddie and squeezed either side of his face. ‘God, I feel like I’m figuring so much out. So much more stuff makes sense to me,’ he exhaled heavily, releasing toxicity with every breath.

Richie loved remembering who he was; it directly correlated with who he had become.

Eddie felt a disconnect. Who he used to be made no sense to him now, made no sense with the life he had cultivated, the life he’d intended to lead. Because who Eddie was now had almost nothing to do with Richie, and almost everything to do with his mother.

Richie settled himself awkwardly on the sofa, with one leg propped underneath himself so that he could bring his face closer to Eddie’s. He let his hands drag down Eddie’s shoulders and arms to his hands. Eddie was so fantastically real, so solid and gratifying, a monument to his history and sense of self.

‘Eddie, I have some news. Big fucking news, okay. Are you ready?’ Richie asked.

Eddie knew that he wasn’t.

‘My agent found someone who wants to do a recording of one of my shows. Then, they want to start me on a tour.’

‘That’s amazing,’ Eddie gushed. ‘Congratulations.’

Richie beamed, then his face dropped. ‘There’s only one catch. I’m moving to LA.’

Eddie’s gut wrenched. He couldn’t help but feel the way he’d felt when Richie had gone the first time. His brain yelled at him: _Richie loved you, and then he left. Why should things be different now? You came here to end things with him, and just like the carving on the kissing bridge, the asshole beat you to it._

‘I want you to come with me, Eds,’ Richie said suddenly.

Eddie spluttered, ‘What?’

‘I know it’s crazy,’ Richie nodded, pushing his hair back. ‘Fuck, it’s really crazy, but I think,’ he hovered over Eddie before clasping his hand on his neck. ‘I think there’s still something here.’

Eddie was stunned. He was furious and overwhelmed, exasperated and terrified. ‘Richie, I can’t,’ he said eventually. ‘You can’t just waltz back into my life and expect me to uproot everything for you.’

‘I’m asking a lot. God, I know that. I just – fuck. I can’t lose you again. I won’t.’ He babbled, then pressed his lips to Eddie’s.

Eddie pulled away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and getting up from his seat, ‘You don’t even know me anymore.’

‘I know you. We were together for six years.’ Richie said, following him around the room. ‘I loved you for six years.’ 

‘Twelve years ago,’ Eddie hammered.

‘It doesn’t just go away,’ Richie retorted.

‘But it did!’ Eddie yelled. ‘You left, and you forgot.’ He could feel the pinkness burning in his cheeks. He could remember the aching in his bones, the tear as Richie broke his heart when they were eighteen.

Richie’s lungs convulsed. ‘But it didn’t go away. Surely you know that as well as I do. Fuck, my whole adult life I’ve been missing you.’

‘Our adult lives are incompatible.’ Eddie said matter-of-factly, pushing past Richie and searching for his coat.

‘Eds, come on.’ Richie begged, gripping Eddie’s arm and spinning him back around to face him. ‘It’s you and me.’

Eddie didn’t want to cry. He needed to get out of here before he did. ‘You forgot me once. You can do it again.’

Richie reeled. He spoke, starting slowly and low, ever increasing in pitch, pace and volume. ‘Why the fuck would you say something like that? Why the fuck would you wish something like that? What the actual fuck?’

Eddie closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the expression on Richie’s face. ‘Jesus fucking Christ. Richie, I’m engaged.’

Richie felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. It hurt. A lot. ‘Oh. Fuck,’ he said, spinning around. He thought he might vomit. ‘Right, um,’ he sat on the arm of the sofa. ‘Congratulations,’ he said, sniffing. ‘What’s – what’s his name?’

Eddie winced. ‘Her name is Myra.’

Richie scoffed, ‘Excuse me?’

‘Myra,’ Eddie said steadily.

‘Eddie,’ Richie said leadingly.

‘We’ve been together a long time,’ Eddie added.

‘I thought I was supposed to be the comedian.’ Richie said flatly. There was a new anger in his eyes, borne of humiliation and grief.

‘Richie,’ Eddie started.

‘Should I put it in my next act?’ Richie mused, approaching Eddie again. ‘Eddie Kaspbrak is going to have a wife. Hold for applause.’

‘Beep beep, Richie,’ Eddie said softly, nostalgically even through his sad frustration.

‘Hang on,’ Richie twitched. ‘When were you planning on telling me this?’

Eddie clenched his jaw. ‘I’m telling you now.’

Richie laughed, ‘But you weren’t going to. Fucking hell. Was I supposed to wait for the fucking invite?’

‘I couldn’t –’ Eddie began, but Richie continued his tirade.

‘What about a best man’s speech from me?’ His eyes were wide, frantic. ‘Bet I’ve got a few stories I could tell that your wife wouldn’t much like. Starting with last week, perhaps.’

Eddie shuffled, ‘That was a mistake.’

Richie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Don’t say that. You don’t mean that.’ He swept forward and kissed Eddie again, pushing him up against his front door.

‘I’m sorry,’ Eddie said, pulling away, grappling behind him for the doorknob. If he didn’t leave now, he would never escape. ‘I think I should go.’

‘No.’ Richie whispered, then said firmly, ‘No.’

Eddie opened the door. ‘Good luck in LA,’ he choked, and left.

‘Eddie!’ Richie yelled, his fist slamming against the closed door.

\---

Eddie felt like a ghost. He showered a lot, but whatever it was that was making him feel so unclean wasn’t washing off. Myra consistently sent him to bed, pampering him with soups and cold flannels and hot water bottles.

He lay in bed ruminating Richie’s imminent departure. It still hadn’t felt like closure. There was nothing peaceful in it, nothing definite that he could release into the wind with a healthy sigh. Richie ate away at him. Guilt ate away at him.

There was a knock at the door. He heard Myra wander to answer it.

‘Hello?’ she asked.

‘Hi Sonia. Is Eddie in?’

Richie. Eddie scrambled out of bed. He couldn’t be here. God, he was desperate to see him, but not here. He couldn’t stand there in the hallway talking to his fiancée. He threw on some clothes.

‘It’s Myra,’ Myra corrected placidly. ‘Who told you to do that?’

Richie furrowed his brow.

‘Sonia is my mom’s name.’ Eddie said, appearing in the awning of his bedroom.

‘Eddie, who is this?’ Myra asked. She turned back to Richie. ‘Who are you?’

‘Richie,’ he introduced, holding out his hand to her. ‘I’m an old friend.’ She shook it.

‘High school,’ Eddie clarified, staring at Richie deliriously. ‘Could you give us a minute, mom?’ He coughed, ‘Myra.’

Myra pursed her lips and slipped on her coat. ‘I’m going out for groceries. Nice to meet you,’ she said insincerely. Then she left.

‘Fuck, I’m gonna pay for that,’ Eddie mumbled. He saw Richie’s face. ‘What?’

‘I didn’t say anything,’ he said, trying not to smirk.

‘What are you doing here, Richie?’ Eddie asked.

He pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘I wanted to say goodbye. Don’t worry,’ he said, lowering his chin, ‘I’m not going to make a scene. I just didn’t want to leave it how we did.’

Eddie sighed. ‘Come in, Richie.’ They sat down in the living room. ‘When do you go?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Richie said, fidgeting. There was a silence, then he asked uncertainly, ‘Do you think we’ll forget again?’

Eddie frowned, ‘I don’t know.’ He still wasn’t sure if it was self-preservation or self-destruction that made him hope they would. He didn’t want to try and get over Richie again. He couldn’t do it again; it hurt so much the first time.

‘If we don’t,’ Richie said, biting his lower lip, ‘Can I give you a call every once in a while?’

The more he thought about it, the more Eddie firmly believed that they would forget, be forced to forget. There was no wanting about it. It was inevitable. They wouldn’t remember each other if they tried. So, there was no harm in a lie. ‘Yeah. Okay.’

‘Okay?’ Richie smiled, disbelieving. ‘Good, okay. Okay.’ He tried to wipe the tear from his cheek without Eddie noticing, but he failed. With hopeful naivete, he added, ‘Maybe you could even visit.’

Eddie couldn’t help but reach out for Richie’s hand. He fought back the tears brewing in his own eyes, tried to swallow the lump in his throat. ‘I –’ he started, stumbling. ‘It’s been good to see you, Richie.’

Richie looked at him. He tried to memorise the way Eddie’s voice sounded, the shampoo that he used, the texture of his skin, his face. The look in his eyes right now, the look he’d seen right before their first kiss: hopeful and hopeless love.

‘I’ll see you again,’ Richie said certainly. ‘I will. I swear it.’ He laughed, ‘I’m still dating your mom, so maybe next time you go visit her.’

‘You’re such an asshole,’ Eddie said.

Richie nodded and stood. ‘I need to go now before I do something stupid.’ He walked to the door.

Eddie followed him. He so nearly told him not to go.

Richie met Eddie’s eyes. ‘Fucking hell. Why do I have to do this again?’ He shook his head and tried to breathe properly. ‘Goodbye, Spaghetti,’ he managed.

‘Bye, Trashmouth,’ Eddie said. He knew that he shouldn’t, knew that it wasn’t fair, but he leaned up and kissed him.

Richie kissed him back, raking one hand through Eddie’s hair, using the other to pull him closer. He wished he could freeze the moment, preserve it in time, let them stay there forever.

Their lips parted, foreheads still resting against each other. ‘You fucker,’ Richie muttered. ‘How is it still you, after all this time?’

Eddie slipped out of his hands. ‘Have a good flight, okay?’

Nodding, accepting defeat, Richie opened the door and let himself out into the hallway. He smiled, ‘See you soon, Eds.’

\---

Forgetting came easy to Eddie this time. He’d done it knowingly before, prepared for it, and it was still inside him like muscle memory. He married Myra. He bought a bigger apartment in New York City. He never visited LA.

Occasionally, he caught Richie Tozier’s shows on the television, but the material had changed. It didn’t spark any memories like it used to, almost as though it wasn’t really him.

Life was something he floated through. It wasn’t stimulating, but nothing hurt.

On the other side of the USA, Richie hadn’t found it to be such a breeze. Everything was stimulating, too stimulating. Everything hurt, even if he couldn’t remember why. He drank more, he smoked more. He stopped writing jokes. Someone did that for him now.

When Mike Hanlon called, ten years after he’d moved from New York City, he threw up. Pennywise’s leering face lurched back into his memories with ferocious, voracious venom.

Eddie crashed his car. He packed his bags. He left for Derry. 

Eddie and Richie were colliding back together again at full speed, and neither one was aware that the other would be waiting for them in the impact zone.

Mike had asked them to meet at a Chinese restaurant. When Richie arrived, he only saw the back of Eddie’s head. Compelled by some intrinsic, teenage impulse, he crashed the gong at the end of the room. Eddie turned, and their eyes met.

Richie felt like he was about to throw up all over again. Eddie felt like he’d crashed his car again. And they both instantly remembered that they’d fallen in love.

Twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the conversation between Richie and his mother is almost word for word a conversation I had with my own mother.


	4. Enough Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Richie's story continues through the timeline of the second movie, when they've returned to Derry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite fluffy methinks.

The Losers club sat themselves down around the circular table of the Chinese restaurant. Drawn like magnets, impelled and completely unconscious, Richie and Eddie sat beside one another. They each felt bombarded with their history, their incomparable connection, lives so intertwined with one another’s and yet they’d spent so much time apart.

The memories weren’t all there, but there was more than either of them expected, far more than the last time they had met. Possibly because this time they looked almost exactly how they did ten years prior, plus a few grey hairs and forehead wrinkles. Possibly because some of the memories had resurfaced before and were buried in shallower graves. Possibly because they were in Derry again and the memories of the town, of Pennywise, of the other five members of the Losers club were so tied to their experiences of each other.

Richie Tozier remembered that when he was young, he’d been hopelessly in love with Eddie Kaspbrak. By some miracle, they’d found each other over a decade later, and then he’d suffered the most violent heartbreak of his life when Eddie didn’t follow him to LA. He didn’t remember much of places or faces. So, he didn’t remember meeting Myra at Eddie’s apartment.

Eddie Kaspbrak remembered that when he was young, he’d shared a romantic relationship with Richie Tozier, and Richie Tozier had broken his heart when he left Derry and forgot him. They’d reconnected briefly in New York City, then he’d left again, this time for LA. He didn’t remember many words or sentiments. So, he didn’t remember Richie asking Eddie to join him on the west coast.

Eddie’s primary emotion was fear upon seeing Richie. A fear he had buried and buried again. Richie represented everything in his life that he’d shut away, everything that his mother had always taught him to be afraid of, everything that Myra had reinforced that he should avoid.

His childhood with Richie had been fraught with danger, brought him closer to death than he’d ever been. Richie was chaotic, unclean and uncouth. Richie was a man who loved other men, a man who had loved him. Richie threatened everything he had forced himself to identify with, the image and the personality he had cultivated.

But by God, Eddie was happy to see him. So unbelievably excited to see him. Even if his face was pallid, his glasses dirty, his clothes not pressed. Nothing could quash the butterflies flapping in his stomach, the thudding swell in his chest. He couldn’t help but overanalyse and rebuff Richie’s jokes, count how many insults were directed at him, how many times Richie looked in his direction.

‘Eddie, you got married?’ Richie asked Eddie, a sneer on his lips to conceal the icicle piercing his heart.

‘Why’s that so fucking funny, dickwad?’ Eddie said quickly.

‘Like, to a woman?’ he asked. To the rest of the Losers it would have seemed like an insult, but it was a genuine question, swiftly and hurtfully answered by Eddie saying, ‘Fuck you, bro.’

Richie laughed maniacally and reciprocated the sentiment before the Losers asked Richie whether he was married. Richie said he was.

Eddie’s heart stopped. ‘When?’

The Losers looked surprised. Richie asked Eddie, ‘You didn’t know I got married?’

Eddie’s face contorted, ‘No.’

‘Yeah, I got married,’ Richie said, knowing that he was twisting the knife a little. ‘Me and your mom are very happy.’

The Losers burst out laughing, but Eddie was furious. Fury hampered with relief, even as the jokes continued piling up.

Richie’s primary emotion upon seeing Eddie was anger. Seeing him talk about his life and his wife made him seethe, because he knew that Eddie deserved more, that Eddie _was _more than the life that he’d built.

If Richie had the time or the mental capacity to think on his emotions for a moment, he’d realise they came from sadness. A broken heart which had never healed, a rejection he had never anticipated, from the one person he’d believed could do neither.

Not only this, but Eddie’s choices reflected a complete denial of everything that he had ever shared with Richie. It made Richie begin to relentlessly question his own fragmented recollections of their relationship, whether any of it was real, or if he just heard what he wanted to hear, believed that Eddie felt what he wanted Eddie to feel.

Eddie and Richie both drank too much throughout the meal, trying to dull the extremity of their emotions.

To buffer his insecure internal monologue, Richie offered jokes and insults without respite. After a while, he started to relax. It was unintentional and unavoidable: he liked to see Eddie laugh, see Eddie get annoyed, see Eddie pull faces and scoff and catch his eye.

His joy bubbling out of him, Eddie found himself shouting, ‘Let’s take our shirts off and kiss!’ before suddenly remembering that was something that they’d done in New York City. The sudden realisation caused him to weaken his grip, and Richie won the arm wrestle.

Richie started to feel peaceful for the first time in a decade. The clouds parted when Eddie was around. He felt the phantom feeling in his chest dissipate; Eddie, his other limb, slotting back into position.

Eddie felt ambivalent, torn in multiple, completely disjointed directions; a rush to the familiar, electric, terrifying past or a hard stance at the pillars of sand he called his future.

They both came to the same conclusion as the night wore on: I’ll wait for Stan to get here. Stan knew. Stan will understand. I can talk to Stan.

But Stanley never came. When Beverly delivered the news of Stan’s tragic suicide following her phone call with Patricia Uris, Eddie and Richie were both struck with grief.

Richie realised quite how brutally dangerous the town he had wandered into truly was. The levity of the evening’s shenanigans, his conflict over his relationship with Eddie, all seemed so trivial when juxtaposed with Stan’s death.

It had taken Stan. He wouldn’t let It take him. And It couldn’t take him if he wasn’t in Derry. He went to the hotel and he packed. Ben tried to convince him to stay, but he refused, climbing out of the window. 

Then he thought about Eddie. He couldn’t leave without knowing that Eddie was coming too. This time when he left, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Eddie came with him, or Richie stayed behind. There were no two ways about it.

Eddie too was thinking about leaving. He wanted to run away and forget again. The pain of Stan’s death stung deep into his core, like he had been impaled. He kept imagining his suicide, over and over, replaying in stark and devastating gore.

Then he thought about Richie. Forgetting had been easier the second time, but it had been a damn hard choice to make. The universe, whether he liked it or not, had a funny habit of throwing Richie back into his life.

He thought about what Richie had said when they were kids. ‘We’ll find each other.’

Even if he ran away again, there was no guarantee that Richie wouldn’t reappear in his life to throw him off course all over again. Or worse, what if Richie never appeared again and he spent the rest of his life without him?

He’d never really considered that before. When he’d left Derry as a kid, he’d known the blood oath to return and hence, that he might see Richie again. When Richie had left New York, it was possible some subconscious part of his brain recalled the oath too, knew that in another decade, they could be reunited.

Now, the prophetic reunion had occurred. After this, there was no cosmic destiny to come back together outside of Richie’s belief. He could be wrong. This could be the last time they were ever in the same place at the same time. He had to make it count.

Bev’s recollections of her vision in the Deadlights confirmed their positions. Eddie stayed, so Richie stayed too.

\---

As Richie unpacked his bags later that evening, he wondered how he’d ended up in this situation. In the neighbouring room, Eddie was flushing unnecessary medications down the toilet, medications that his wife, like his mother before, had insisted he request prescriptions for, that he finally remembered he didn’t need. He heard a knock at his door.

‘What’s with all the flushing, man? The noise of the pipes is giving me a fucking headache.’ Richie complained as the door swung open, his eyes hanging heavy with sleep deprivation, the hangover creeping in unprecedentedly early. 

Eddie handed him a bottle of aspirin that he’d yet to throw away. ‘I’ll stop.’ Shifting his weight, he asked, ‘How are you doing?’

‘About as well as you’d expect,’ Richie said honestly. ‘One of my best friends is dead. I’m probably going to get killed by a clown tomorrow. You’re –’ he started, unable to choose the words which best fit the end of that sentence. In danger. Probably going to die too. Married to a woman. The person I’m most angry at on the planet. Not in love with me and maybe you never were.

‘Here.’ Eddie finished for him.

‘Yeah,’ Richie sighed.

Eddie opened the door wider. ‘Do you want to come in?’

Richie hovered, but ultimately crossed the threshold. He looked across the room and saw that Eddie had brought too many bags, even by his standards. He saw the open, empty canisters of medicine and raised an eyebrow at Eddie.

‘Gazebos,’ Eddie said, rolling his eyes, feeling stupid. ‘Again.’

Richie recalled meeting Myra suddenly. The thought made him laugh as he crashed down onto Eddie’s bed. ‘You know, it’s a shame I didn’t get to spend more time with your wife.’

Eddie’s face screwed up. This was an odd thing for Richie to have said. Delicately, he squeezed onto the bed beside Richie.

Richie went on, ‘She’s so much like your mom, we probably would have a raw sexual chemistry that—’

Eddie hit him. ‘Gross, Richie. Gross on a whole new, twisted level.’

‘That’s my sweet spot.’ Richie bragged. Then he rocked onto his side, so he could look at Eddie properly. ‘Seriously though, what are you doing?’

Eddie immediately jumped on the defensive. ‘The fuck is that supposed to mean? Which are you attacking now, huh? My dead mom, my fat wife or my boring job?’ He twisted away, ‘Fuck you, Richie.’

Richie pulled him back around. ‘Look, for once, I’m not trying to be a dick. I just want to know if you’re happy, Eds. That’s all.’

Eddie softened, his heart aching. ‘Don’t call me Eds,’ he said. Reflex reaction. He didn’t feel ready for Richie’s question, so he deflected it back. ‘Are you happy?’ he scoffed.

Richie threw his head back, ‘No!’ he laughed. ‘My life is a fucking mess. Okay? You go.’

Eddie squirmed. ‘I’m not _un_happy,’ he said, then he squinted, ‘I think.’ In truth, he didn’t feel much of anything most of the time. The few hours he’d spent in Derry again had explored more emotional range than he had reached in the last decade, but at least he didn’t spend his life afraid. 

‘So, you’re not happy then.’ Richie concluded.

‘It’s easier, Richie.’ Eddie said, growing exasperated and tired. ‘It’s normal. It’s quiet. There are no killer clowns. Didn’t know that’d have to be an explicit requirement in my life, but here we are.’

‘Pennywise is not the worst thing that’s happened to us.’ Richie said, but it wasn’t really aimed at Eddie. It was a realisation he’d just come to about himself but couldn’t hold onto.

After all, Pennywise only reflected their own fears back at them. The root fears; they were the real traumas, the real tragedies. It sounded like Stan’s voice in Richie’s head; the voice of reason. He felt a pang of grief again.

‘It’s not in my top ten highlights,’ Eddie said dismissively, but Richie’s comment nagged at him, sprouting roots in the back of his mind, spreading like a weed.

He considered what Richie might be referring to and came up with more contenders than he expected. He was too tired to register them all. He heard Myra’s voice. You look tired. You should go to bed. You might be getting sick again.

Richie groaned next to him. Dozily, he slurred, ‘I didn’t say I was excited to see the guy.’

Eddie snickered, even through his fear. He glanced at Richie. His eyes were closed, his head resting on the slats of the headboard, dark curled hair pressing flat. Eddie’s heart clambered up into his throat. Quietly, he admitted, ‘I’m really glad you’re here, Richie.’

Deliberately, Richie didn’t open his eyes. His jaw clenched and unclenched. ‘I wish we weren’t,’ he grumbled, then he mused, ‘Not that I’d be doing anything better if I wasn’t. Fucking your mom, maybe.’

Eddie elbowed him, which made Richie’s eyelids flicker and his throat grunt. Eddie noticed the bags under Richie’s eyes, the lines at the corner of his mouth, the gruffness in his voice, the silvery streaks in his sideburns. A forty-year-old celebrity comedian that he cared for so innately and deeply, that he now knew from Richie’s own proclamations, was miserable.

‘Richie?’ Eddie began. Richie hummed so that Eddie knew he was listening. ‘Why aren’t you happy? With your life, I mean. I get why you’re not happy to be here.’

Richie sighed and finally reopened his eyes. He stared up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, but he knew well enough.

Eddie wasn’t satisfied with this response. ‘Come on, Richie. It’s me.’

Richie scoffed, ‘Exactly.’

‘What do you mean?’ Eddie asked, feeling like his throat was constricting. ‘Richie?’

‘You know what I mean,’ Richie accused, growing heated. ‘It’s you. It’s always been you, and I don’t have you. That’s it, Eds. There’s no grand mystery. There’s no secret memory that I still need to unlock. You aren’t in my life.’

Eddie’s blood surged. He didn’t know what masochistic part of him wanted to hear these things, but he did. It hurt, and he liked it. The words imprinted into his brain like cattle brands, searing hot and permanent.

Richie went on, ‘And in the next few days, we’re either gonna die, or we kill It and you go back to your wife in New York City. You’ll be gone. Again.’

Eddie reeled at this. ‘What do you mean _I’ll _be gone? You’re the one that goes, that leaves me behind.’

Richie cooed, sitting up. ‘Oh, that’s not fair. That is so fucking unfair. I was forced to move as a kid. And New York, don’t pretend you weren’t fully intending on still marrying Myra, even if I’d stayed.’

‘We didn’t have enough time in New York to know,’ Eddie shook his head. It wasn’t an excuse, it was a reason.

‘I knew,’ Richie defended.

‘Fine, fine. It wasn’t enough time for me,’ Eddie corrected. ‘I was engaged, I had a lease, I had a job, I had a sick mother, and all of a sudden, there’s you. I barely had a chance to think before you were off to LA.’

‘What was I supposed to do? Give up a once in a lifetime shot in my career to watch you marry someone else? And,’ Richie was yelling, ‘I fucking asked you to come with me. And yeah, maybe you would have been crazy to say yes, but at least I fucking tried.’ 

Eddie felt like Richie had slapped him. ‘Fuck. You did,’ he furrowed his brow. ‘I forgot.’ He sighed. ‘See, but that’s part of the problem. We don’t even remember the same things. We have completely different memories of us.’

‘I know what matters.’ Richie insisted. ‘I know that when I’m not with you, nothing in my life really makes any sense. I don’t like who I am without you.’

Frustrated, Eddie snapped, ‘That’s not on me. That’s on you. You can’t put that kind of pressure on me. I don’t exist to give your life purpose or buffer your insecurities. We can’t put that kind of responsibility on each other.’

With that said, Richie started to understand Eddie’s perspective. He hated it. ‘You’re right,’ he mumbled. His self-worth and self-acceptance were ironically and inextricably linked to his relationship with Eddie.

Eddie raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever said that to me before.’

‘Fuck you,’ Richie said quietly, tenderly, ‘but you’re right.’ He groaned. ‘I’m sorry. I guess it’s just easier to blame it on you, you know. You’ve always been out of my control, and I don’t want to control you, so then I could just be fucked up and call it a day.’

Eddie heard him punctuate the word ‘easier’. It reverberated around his skull. The easier option. His whole life had been a search for the easier option, except for when he was a kid, except for when he was in Derry, except for when he was with Richie.

Then he heard something else in what Richie had said. I don’t want to control you. His mother controlled him. His wife controlled him. Society endlessly and mercilessly controlled him. But Richie didn’t want to, which was why Eddie had always been able to stand up to Richie.

Richie never treated him like he was delicate, like he needed protecting. The worst thing Richie had ever tried to do was ask Eddie to be stronger than Richie himself was. And when Eddie had called him out on it, Richie always agreed and apologised.

Silently, Eddie came to a similar conclusion he had just accused Richie of perpetuating. His self-belief and autonomy were ironically and inextricably linked to his relationship with Richie.

‘Speaking of calling it a day,’ Richie said, ‘We should probably get some sleep.’

‘Do you want to sleep here?’ Eddie asked, as nonchalantly as he could. He found himself wondering what it would be like to share a bed again, to sleep so vulnerably beside one another, to wake up next to Richie’s sleep-streaked eyes, with his unruly hair and slurring voice and morning breath.

‘Sure,’ Richie said, kicking off his shoes. ‘I can use you as a human shield in case that fucking clown shows up.’

‘Richie, what the fuck?’ Eddie’s cheeks burned pink, then he saw that Richie was smiling, and softened.

Unsure how it would be received, Richie pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his belt. He wanted to sleep how he always did, but he didn’t want to make Eddie uncomfortable. ‘Do you have spare pyjamas? I didn’t bring any.’

Eddie went to his bags and threw over a pair of pyjama bottoms. He undressed himself while turned away from Richie and slipped on his own pyjama trousers, but no shirt. As he turned, the dawn light bounced off the peaks and valleys of his torso.

Richie wriggled into the pyjamas. He stood tall and laughed, ‘Uh, Eds?’ he said, looking down at the exposed shins and ankles. They were about six inches too short.

Eddie laughed as he climbed back into the bed. There was something wonderfully innocent and domestic about the exchange. He tried to remember the last time that Myra and he had laughed together and came up short. Nobody made him laugh like Richie.

Richie wormed under the covers. His legs grazed against Eddie’s accidentally and he murmured an apology. His eyes surveyed Eddie’s silhouette beside him and he wished that he could have spent every night this way.

‘Goodnight, Trashmouth.’

‘Goodnight, Spaghetti.’

\---

When Eddie woke, Richie’s arms were wrapped around his waist, Richie’s nose grazing his neck, their legs intertwined. Eddie lay still and interlaced his fingers with Richie’s, watching the morning sun stream through the windows.

Richie awakened to a pounding headache. He was dehydrated and warm from the body next to him, the body in his arms. He began to discretely move away, embarrassed, then he saw that Eddie was already awake.

‘Morning,’ he said, relaxing as he realised that if Eddie was uncomfortable, he would have got out of the bed. He didn’t know if he would ever get to hold Eddie like this again, so he wanted it to last as long as possible.

‘Morning,’ Eddie said nervously, his back curling slightly, toes grazing the curled hairs on Richie’s legs.

‘What time is it?’ Richie asked, hoping they wouldn’t have to get up too soon.

Eddie squinted at the clock. ‘Nine thirty,’ he said.

Richie grumbled, ‘Ugh, so early,’ and buried his face into the pillow.

Eddie rolled his eyes, ‘I’m normally up at six thirty for work. You should count yourself lucky.’ He drummed his fingers on Richie’s. ‘We should probably get up if we want to get breakfast.’

Richie squeezed him gently, ‘Five more minutes?’

Eddie chuckled and stroked Richie’s arm. ‘Come on.’

Richie groaned and let his arms slide away. Eddie felt strangely naked without them. They climbed out of the bed and looked at each other. They both had the same thought: this could have been our life together.

Eddie went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Richie stretched, the vertebrae cracking in his back. There was a knock at the door. Without thinking, Richie answered it.

Mike stood there. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Oh, I thought this was Eddie’s room.’

Richie coughed, ‘Uh, it is. He’s in the bathroom. I just popped over to see if he, uh,’ he scanned the dresser beside him, ‘had any aspirin. The shots were a bad idea last night.’

Mike looked Richie up and down, noting the short hemline of the pyjama bottoms. He cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t comment. ‘Breakfast here, then we’ll head out.’ He watched as Eddie exited the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from his frothing mouth. ‘I’ll see you both downstairs.’

Mike swivelled on his heels and disappeared down the corridor. Richie turned to Eddie with a concerned look on his face, but Eddie was surprisingly calm. He said, loud enough for Mike to hear, ‘Thanks for the aspirin. I’ll see you down there,’ then went back to his own room.

Richie figured that Eddie’s calm demeanour meant that he really did believe in the innocence of sharing a bed with Richie and the doubt crept back into his mind. Deflated, Richie slumped over his bathroom sink and groaned.

The truth was, Eddie was too consumed with the realisation he’d come to this morning as he lay in Richie’s arms: he didn’t want Richie to let go. It felt right to lie there with him, felt gorgeous and romantic. He didn’t feel the same guilt or panic as he had done in New York. He just felt happy. Comfy.

At breakfast, Richie went back to making jokes at Eddie’s expense, and Eddie went back to cussing at Richie. Mike watched them carefully, a smirk brewing on his face. After a while, he mentioned that he wanted to take the Losers down to their old hideout, in the hopes that it would bring back some memories.

It was strange to be there. The posters, the paddle ball, the tin of shower caps. Both Richie and Eddie saw the hammock and fondly smiled. Instinctively, they glanced at each other, and they both knew that they recalled the same happy memories. Richie’s heart lifted as Eddie’s opened.

Stan’s absence hung heavy and opaque. The Losers all took their time to remember him.

‘Do you think we’ll all be friends when we’re older?’ Stan had asked, years ago.

Richie’s heart ached for his lost friend. He looked at the rest of the group, at these strangers he knew he loved. He looked at Eddie. Maybe they could call themselves friends again. The thought made him nauseous. Eddie had always been so much more than a friend.

The Losers disbanded in search of their tokens. Richie hung back, gently kicking at one of the wooden beams. Eddie’s head reappeared at the entrance.

‘Aren’t you coming, Richie?’ he asked.

Richie shrugged. ‘In a second.’

Eddie considered leaving, then gradually lowered himself back down underground. His feet thudded into the dirt. He walked over to Richie. ‘What is it?’

Richie squatted to sit in the parabola of the hammock. ‘Stan,’ he said quietly, then he covered his eyes with his hand and started to cry.

Eddie went and sat beside him. Gravity pushed the sides of their bodies up against each other. Eddie put his arms around Richie, resting his head on his shoulder. ‘Yeah,’ Eddie said. ‘I keep thinking that he’ll just show up in a second and wonder what all the fuss was about.’

Richie sniffed, ‘I keep hearing his voice in my head. Things that he would say. I keep looking around the group to catch his eye when something would have made him laugh or roll his eyes.’ He sighed. ‘I was so looking forward to seeing him, you know.’

‘Me too.’ Eddie said, then something came back to him. A memory of his last day in Derry, a conversation he’d had with Stan at the kissing bridge. ‘You never told me that he knew. That you told him about, well, you.’

Richie snorted, ‘He knew long before I told him.’ He screwed up his face and looked at Eddie. ‘Wait, how do you know this?’ 

‘He asked me the same thing. After you left.’ Eddie admitted.

Richie’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘The truth,’ Eddie said, sighing. It had been a long time since he’d acknowledged that it was, in fact, the truth.

‘About you or about us?’ Richie asked curiously.

‘Both.’ Eddie chewed the inside of his cheek. ‘He’s the only person I ever talked to about us but,’ Eddie grew emotional, ‘he made it so easy.’

Richie remembered Stan’s kind eyes, his level tone, his bright smile during that conversation on prom night. He nodded, ‘Yeah, he did. I wish he’d asked sooner, so we’d have had more time.’

‘It’s never enough time though, is it?’ Eddie raised an eyebrow.

Richie gazed into Eddie’s eyes. ‘No, it’s not.’

‘It’s too easy to have regrets,’ Eddie shook his head.

Richie swallowed. ‘Do you ever regret,’ he squirmed, ‘us?’

As Eddie considered this even for a second, he exhaled heavily, ‘No. God, no. What we have,’ he stopped himself. ‘I could never regret us.’

‘Not even New York?’ Richie asked. ‘You said that night was a mistake.’

Eddie made a face, ‘Not a golden moment for me ethically. I have to call it a mistake for Myra’s sake.’ He met Richie’s eyes. ‘But a mistake is not the same thing as a regret. So, no. I don’t regret it.’

Richie hadn’t realised quite how badly he’d needed to hear these things. The affirmation washed through him like a sedative. ‘When I got back to Derry, I started to remember us again. But it was so hazy and some of it didn’t make sense. I started to doubt. I wasn’t sure what was real.’

Eddie’s heart snapped. ‘It was real. It’s all been real,’ he said quickly. He needed to know that Richie knew. That had always been the comfort, even when he couldn’t admit it to himself. Richie never gave up. Richie always believed. So, Eddie said carefully, ‘I loved you. I loved you so much.’ Then he blurted, ‘And I’ve never loved anyone else.’

Richie gulped. ‘Never?’ That meant Eddie was admitting that he didn’t love Myra and that he never had.

Eddie let the truth crawl out from under its headstones. ‘There’s no-one but you, Trashmouth. Never has been.’ His voice dropped in volume as he reached for Richie’s hand. ‘Never will be.’

Panicking, Richie garbled, ‘Eds, what –’

Time slowed for Richie Tozier. The world stopped turning on its axis. Everything was quiet, still. He saw Eddie lift his chin slightly, inch his head closer to Richie’s. Richie didn’t breathe. When Eddie kissed him, he felt like he was in outer space, orbiting the earth, perfectly still at breakneck speed.

Eddie’s hands tugged at the curls on the back of Richie’s head as he kissed him again and again. Richie’s hands found Eddie’s neck, feeling his rapid pulse beneath the thin skin, thumbs tracing the line of his jaw.

Richie pulled away suddenly. ‘Wait. I can’t do this. I can’t do this again if you’re gonna turn around and—’

Eddie gripped Richie’s shoulders. ‘I’m not,’ he promised, then explained, ‘Stan’s gone. It’s finally fucking hit me. I don’t want to die and have it all be a fucking waste of time with the wrong person. And I’m sorry it’s taken me so fucking long to get there.’

The words were like the final bars of an opera to Richie. The perfect cadence boomed in his ears. He kissed Eddie, certainly and beautifully.

‘It’s you and me, Rich,’ Eddie said.

Richie smiled, ‘And your mom.’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Eddie sighed, dropping his chin.

‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,’ Richie chuckled.

‘I hate you so much.’ Eddie shook his head, fighting a grin.

‘I’ve missed you, Eds,’ Richie said, kissing him again, delighted that he could.

Eddie’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I’ve missed you too, Richie.’

Richie considered for a moment that this was a trick or a hallucination, some construction of his deluded imagination, a zap in his brain as he died. He lay back into the hammock and closed his eyes.

Love swarmed inside him and he realised he didn’t care. If this wasn’t real, then he was happy to live in the fantasy. If it was real, then he knew heaven could be no better.

Eddie grimaced. ‘That hammock has not been cleaned in over twenty years. The structural integrity of this place has not been rigorously tested. There’s probably rot. Termites.’

Richie laughed. Only the real Eddie would say such a thing. He reached up and grabbed Eddie round the waist, hauling him down on top of himself. They lay there in isolated bliss.

‘Sometimes I forget why I was ever afraid,’ Richie said, running his hand through Eddie’s soft hair.

The warm feeling in Eddie’s chest vanished, freezing over like the quarry in winter. ‘You remember what this place was like.’ Eddie shuddered, ‘What it’s still like.’

Furrowing his brow, Richie asked, ‘What do you mean?’

Eddie stared at him. ‘Didn’t Mike tell you why he called? The guys from the fair?’

Richie’s palms began to sweat. ‘No, what happened?’

Eddie recounted the story of Don Hagerty and Adrian Mellon. The most terrifying part of the story was not the moment where It killed the latter, and both the men knew it. At the conclusion, Eddie placed his hand in Richie’s and squeezed it tightly.

The story deeply perturbed Richie. He was disturbed by the homophobia he’d always pretended didn’t exist to so dark an extent in Derry. He was disturbed by the details which Eddie peppered in, like the fact that Adrian was suffering an asthma attack and was refused his inhaler.

He was disturbed by the location of the crime: the kissing bridge where he shared so many tender moments with Eddie, where he had carved their initials twenty-seven years ago. He was disturbed by how easily this could have been his own story.

‘Fucking hell,’ Richie whispered, squeezing Eddie’s hand back. For the first time, he truly understood Eddie’s fears from when they were young. They weren’t irrational. They were real fears. Not of themselves, but for themselves.

Eddie looked at his watch. ‘We probably need to head out and find our tokens.’

Richie nodded, ‘Yeah.’ He groaned as he sat up, ‘Oh, can’t we kill this clown next week?’

Eddie kissed him. ‘I’ll meet you back at the hotel, okay?’

Richie was more worried for Eddie than he’d ever been. He’d only just got him back. But he knew he had to let Eddie do this on his own.

‘Okay.’

\---

Richie had puked after he swung the axe that killed Henry Bowers. He hadn’t even thought about the sound that it would make as it buried into the skull, the sickening smack. All he had seen was his friend in danger, and a man who earlier had stabbed Eddie in the face.

Now, as they stood outside the Neibolt house, Richie felt like he could puke again. He looked over at Eddie’s face, the bandage plastered over the cheek, a thin trickle of blood oozing from the wound. This was it.

As they walked in, Richie hung back just enough that he could reach over and squeeze Eddie’s fingers, a small show of solidarity. Eddie looked at him. There was fear penetrating his eyes. Richie had seen that fear so many times. He hoped that today would be the last time he’d have to see it.

Entering the Neibolt house felt like going back in time. Richie remembered the hallucination of Eddie vomiting black tar, the room filled with clowns and his own coffin, his own corpse. Eddie subconsciously rubbed at his forearm, the pain of the old break crackling through his brain.

When the decapitated head of Stan sprouted tarantula legs from its eye sockets, Eddie froze up. He backed against the wall and watched as it attacked the group, attacked Richie. He couldn’t comprehend the sheer level of anxiety and impending dread as he felt he was watching Richie die.

He couldn’t comprehend that he might feel that same anxiety a hundred times over today, or that the result might come to fruition. He could barely cope with Stan’s death, but even the idea of Richie’s death made his bones ossify and his muscles seize.

He didn’t hear a word of what Bill shouted in his face. All he could say was, ‘Please don’t be mad at me, Bill.’

Bev handed Eddie the spear, ‘It kills monsters if you believe it does.’

The group reconvened at the well. The descent. They had done it before and come out alive. They prayed that they could do the same again. One by one they made their way.

Eddie and Richie were last to go. They embraced, chins resting in the crook of the other’s neck. Neither had ever been so scared, neither had ever had so much to lose.

‘We got this, Eds. You and me.’ Richie said.

‘You and me,’ Eddie repeated. He kissed him, then lowered himself down the well.

The second descent was a narrow hole, into the depths of Pennywise’s lair, where none of them had ever dared to tread before. Claustrophobic, Eddie stopped short.

‘Who killed a psychotic clown when he was thirteen?’ Richie asked.

‘I did,’ Eddie said, swallowing.

‘Who pulled Henry Bower’s knife out of his own face and stabbed him with it?’

‘I did.’ The wound throbbed on his cheek.

‘Who married a woman ten times his body mass?’

Eddie lowered his eyelids, ‘I did.’

‘You’re braver than you think.’ Richie said, knowing he had thousands more examples.

Who kissed who first? Who dared to say ‘I love you’ first? Who, despite all his perfectly rational fears, endured a six-year relationship with a boy in Derry through high school? Eddie.

Who admitted that the life he was leading wasn’t the one he wanted? Who let himself fall in love again, despite how much it had hurt before? Who was prepared to give up everything he had built for a chance at a relationship with Richie Tozier? Eddie.

Richie and Eddie placed their tokens in the ring for the ritual. Richie had been sceptical, but it was appearing to work. But then Pennywise’s great head on a gigantic tarantula’s body burst forth, and he realised it was far from over.

Eddie and Richie found themselves faced with three doors. Thinking it was a ruse, they opened ‘Very Scary’. It was a closet.

They looked at each other, both instantly making the connection, but then relaxed. They didn’t need to fear the closet anymore. They had each other, and soon they would be able to leave Derry and go somewhere they would be accepted, could be together.

Panicked, Pennywise sent severed legs to frighten them. It worked. The Pomeranian’s transformation into a hideous dinosaur monster too frightened them, and they scarpered.

‘Next time we just go with regular scary.’ Richie suggested.

‘Next time?’ Eddie screeched.

Richie had all but had enough. Furious, he marched towards the alien creature, shouting, ‘Hey fuckface, you’re a sloppy bitch!’ But before he had a chance to attack, he was caught in the Deadlights.

Eddie threw the spear. It buried into the demon’s throat and broke the spell. ‘I think I got him!’ Eddie yelled excitedly, standing over Richie.

Richie heard the smack of the axe ricochet around his skull again as Pennywise’s leg tore through Eddie’s abdomen. Showered in Eddie’s blood, Richie could only gape in horror and disbelief at the sight before him. Skewered, Eddie garbled, ‘Richie?’ as blood trickled from his lower lip.

‘Eddie?’ Richie whispered, his voice high and squeaking.

Eddie was thrown to the far side of the room. Richie leapt up and ran to him. He tore off his jacket and pressed it up against the wound. Eddie’s blood was warm and syrupy as it gushed through his fingers.

‘I almost killed it. I made him small.’ Eddie managed.

This didn’t mean much to Richie, but it meant something to Mike and Bev. Quickly, they began to hypothesise, grabbing Bill and Ben and rushing out to face off with the monster.

Richie didn’t move. He stared with hopeless love and denial at the man before him.

‘Richie?’ Eddie said quietly.

‘What is it, buddy?’ Richie asked hurriedly, the panic seeping into his voice.

‘I fucked your mom,’ Eddie whispered, then chuckled.

Richie’s face dropped. Behind them he heard the other Losers hurling insults at Pennywise. He pushed harder up against Eddie’s stomach, his hands and clothes dark with blood. ‘I’m gonna get you out of here, Eddie. They’re gonna get us out of here. Stay with me, okay?’

Eddie knew he was naïve to think these things. Eddie knew he was dying. He reached up and wrapped his hand over Richie’s, caressing with his thumbs, ‘I’m sorry, Richie,’ he said. ‘We could have had more time, we should have,’ he murmured.

‘Hey, hey, don’t worry about that right now, Eds, okay? We’ve got all the time in the world.’ Richie promised, needed to believe.

‘Do you forgive me, Richie?’ Eddie asked, his lips tremoring.

‘Eds,’ Richie said tenderly.

‘I need to know,’ Eddie begged.

Richie nodded, then pressed his forehead to Eddie’s. ‘Oh yeah, Spaghetti, I do. I do.’ He kissed him, his body shaking.

‘I love you, Trashmouth,’ Eddie said, barely more than a whisper. ‘I always have.’

Richie kissed him again, whimpering. ‘I love you too, Eds.’

‘They need your help, Richie.’ Eddie said, his eyes flicking over to the others.

Richie nodded, ‘I’m gonna kill this fucking clown,’ he vowed, placing Eddie’s hands onto the jacket and praying he had the strength to hold. ‘I’ll be back for you.’ Then he ran.

Richie tore off Pennywise’s leg, the one which had ripped through Eddie. He screamed his insults, he watched with glee as the monster shrank down, he relished as they crushed its heart in their hands. Everyone sighed, as though the ordeal was over, but it wasn’t over for Richie.

‘Eddie,’ he said, darting away, almost falling over in his haste. He dropped in front of Eddie, ‘Wake up, buddy,’ he said.

He placed his hands on Eddie’s cheek, expecting him to flinch, but he didn’t. He tried to look into Eddie’s eyes and see the hopeful, hopeless love he knew, but they were glassy, glazed, dark.

‘Eddie?’ he whispered. Unable to process, he insisted, ‘We need to help him. He’s just hurt, he needs our help.’

‘Honey? Honey,’ Bev began, her voice cracking. ‘He’s dead.’

‘No,’ Richie denied, throwing his arms around Eddie and holding him close. He wouldn’t take it, couldn’t take it to be true. Not Eddie. Anyone but Eddie. Eddie loved him. Eddie was going to run away with him. Eddie and Richie were supposed to grow old together.

Richie had to be dragged away, screaming and crying and hollering at the tragedy, with the sickening twist in his stomach, even as he accepted that Eddie may be dead, that he couldn’t bear to leave his body in this place which had caused him so much fear and pain.

The Neibolt house collapsed and Richie felt like he was falling, falling, falling.

Falling, falling.

Richie fell. Richie crashed to the floor and opened his eyes in the dark, dazed and confused. Eddie stood over him, ‘I think I got him!’

Behind him, Pennywise hacked at the spear clogged in its throat.

Richie, shocked and harrowed from having foreseen Eddie’s death in the Deadlights, didn’t have the words to explain himself, so he swept his legs wildly and knocked Eddie to the ground with a snap and a thud.

‘Richie, what the fuck?’ Eddie yelled. ‘I think you broke my fucking arm!’

Leaping to his feet, Richie grabbed Eddie and dragged him up and down through the entrance of the cavern, far away from the piercing needles of Pennywise. ‘I saved your fucking life,’ Richie vowed.

‘No, I just saved _your_ life,’ Eddie corrected.

Richie shook his head. He felt like he could vomit again. ‘No, no, Eds. I saw it. I saw it in the Deadlights. I saw you die. I saw It kill you. Fuck,’ he babbled, then threw his arms around him. ‘Fuck. I don’t know what I would have done.’

The other Losers scrambled down to meet them. ‘Are you b-both alright?’ Bill asked.

‘Fuck, Eddie. Your arm,’ Mike reeled, looking at the misshapen lumps under the skin.

Bev looked at Richie. Agape, relieved, proud, she said, ‘You saw it. In the Deadlights, you saw it. You stopped it.’

Richie slaked his tongue over his teeth. ‘That’s not all I saw. Eddie,’ he breathed, tearing off his jacket, his jacket which was not coated in Eddie’s blood, and tied it around Eddie’s neck as a makeshift sling. ‘Eddie, in the vision you said something. Fuck, I don’t remember what it was, but you knew. You knew how to beat It.’

‘The leper,’ Eddie whispered to himself, then he explained.

Richie readied himself for a battle he knew he could win. As he marched out, he yelled, ‘Why the fuck do I have to do everything in my life twice?’ He picked up a rock and threw it at Pennywise. ‘Hey fuckface. Guess what?’ He pointed, ‘You’re _still _a sloppy bitch!’

Pennywise diminished as the Losers enclosed it. Richie didn’t tear off just one of its legs, but three, as the others looked on agog. They crushed the heart, just as they had done before.

‘This place is gonna crumble. We need to get out quick.’ Richie warned, and they pelted. He cradled Eddie to ensure that he could get out safely with his broken arm even as the foundations of the Neibolt house turned to ash around them.

The six watched from the street as the roof caved in. Richie still felt as though he was standing at Eddie’s grave. He threw his arms around him again.

‘Richie, ow! Watch the fucking arm. Seriously.’ Eddie yelled.

‘Sorry,’ Richie said, tapping Eddie’s cheek again, delighted to watch Eddie jerk away. He forced eye-contact, needing to see them again. There it was. Eddie was alive. Eddie was gloriously alive, and Richie loved him.

Almost on instinct, the Losers found themselves at the quarry. Bev jumped into the water first. Richie looked at Eddie, who couldn’t possibly jump with his arm so hideously broken, then at the rocky path down to the water’s edge. ‘I’ll walk with you,’ he offered.

They walked slowly, carefully, with Richie’s guiding hands prepped to catch Eddie should he slip. He dipped his feet into the water. Eddie hung back.

‘I’m not going in there.’ Eddie blared. ‘I have an open wound. Do you have any idea what kind of infections I could get?’

Richie smiled and sat down on the rock. He patted the space beside him. ‘Then I guess they’ll have to come to us.’

Eddie lowered himself down. The other Losers swam over leisurely.

‘Always you who breaks something, huh, Eddie?’ Bill jested.

‘Is that the same arm as well?’ Mike noted, and everyone laughed.

Richie didn’t laugh. Richie cried. His glasses slipped from his nose and into the water. His skin stretched, his eyes bleared, he covered his face with his hand. He was just so relieved, so ridiculously relieved that they were all here, that they had made it.

He couldn’t bear to think how terrible it would be to have come down to the lake without Eddie, to need to wash Eddie’s blood from his face and clothes and glasses, to have to keep living in a world without Eddie in it.

His friends crowded around him and comforted him silently. Eddie’s one good arm wrapped around him, Eddie’s head on his shoulder.

‘Thank you,’ Richie said. ‘I don’t know who you people are but thank you.’

Ben and Bev dove to find Richie’s glasses on the lake bed. Mike threw Bill a knowing look, then embraced him, allowing Richie and Eddie a moment alone.

Richie’s fingers wove with Eddie’s between them. He turned to him, ‘You know, when I saw,’ he choked, ‘what I saw, you said some things.’

Eddie raised an eyebrow, ‘What did I say?’

‘You said,’ he gulped, wondering if he should tell Eddie that he’d begged Richie for forgiveness, that he’d wished they’d had more time. He smiled, ‘You said you fucked my mom.’

Eddie threw his head back and laughed. ‘Sounds about right,’ he said, then his brow furrowed. ‘I hope that’s not all I said.’

Richie bit his lip, ‘It wasn’t,’ he admitted, but he didn’t dare ask Eddie anything, ask if he meant it in this reality.

Eddie knew what he was thinking. ‘I do, Rich.’

Richie inhaled raggedly. ‘Yeah?’ he asked. ‘I do too.’

Eddie smiled, ‘I know.’

Beneath the water, Ben and Beverly kissed. Richie and Eddie smiled, glad to see their friends happy and in love too.

‘Rich?’ Eddie said, turning towards him.

‘Yeah?’ Richie said, meeting his gaze.

Eddie’s eyes dropped momentarily to Richie’s lips, then he leaned in and kissed him. It was the kiss he had dreaded through his lifetime, the open declaration. He didn’t have anything to fear anymore.

Everything they shared had been threatened, and they’d made it through. He wasn’t going to hide his joy.

Mike whispered to Bill, ‘I told you.’

Bill smiled, ‘Huh. I g-guess I owe you ten bucks.’

Mike raised his eyebrows, ‘And?’

Bill scoffed, ‘And a happy ending to my next book.’ 

\---

Richie and Eddie wandered up to the kissing bridge. It was their last day in Derry, and this time they would be leaving together. The regular calls from the other Losers had been proof enough that they wouldn’t be forgetting this time around.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Eddie asked Richie, bounding forwards, his arm bound in a cast which all the Losers had signed whilst he was in the hospital.

Richie shrugged, ‘Sure.’

Eddie pointed at the carving etched into the wood with his good arm. ‘When did you do this? I have my suspicions, but I’d love to find out for certain.’

Richie blushed, ‘Uh, I didn’t know you knew about that.’

‘I found it on my last day in Derry. With Stan.’ Eddie said fondly. ‘So?’

‘I carved it when we were thirteen.’ Richie said. ‘Before we got together. I kissed you on the cheek after you’d busted your knee open, and I figured that’d be the closest I’d get to a kiss on this bridge with you.’

‘I thought so.’ Eddie snickered.

'Not that I didn't try to get that kiss,' Richie added. 'But as I recall, you were a little surprised.'

'Make that very surprised,' Eddie said. 'If you hadn't tried though, I dread to think how much more time it could have taken.' 

Richie pursed his lips, 'I still think we would have ended up here.' 

Eddie took his hand, 'Me too.' He looked up at Richie and softly pressed their lips together. ‘There you go,’ Eddie said. 'Long overdue.’

Richie grinned and flicked out his penknife to redraw the lines he had drawn so long ago, this time with Eddie looking over his shoulder: R + E. He swiped over the letters with his hand to clear the shavings.

Satisfied with the result, they stood tall. 'Your handwriting sucks,' Eddie said.

'Fuck you, asshole,' Richie nudged him. 'I'll break your other arm. See how good you write then.'

Eddie exhaled heavily. 'I guess that's everything, isn't it? To New York City we go.’ He shook his head, ‘Oh, this is not going to be fun.’

‘I'll be there the whole time.' Richie promised, wrapping his arms around Eddie. 'Look on the bright side. It's not every day you get to divorce your mom.’

Eddie groaned, ‘I’m gonna have to put up with ‘your mom’ jokes for the rest of my life, aren’t I?’

Richie chuckled, ‘Oh, I hope so, Eds.’

Eddie smiled broadly. ‘I hope so too.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, it's a fix-it fic.


	5. You and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final piece, covering a few key moments in the years following the final fight with It.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had so much fun writing this fic and I'm gonna miss these lil Losers. I hope you're happy with this ending.

Richie stood at the airport gate, regularly looking at his watch. After spending a few months together in New York City, he now hadn’t seen Eddie in two weeks, having come back to LA to meet with his managers whilst Eddie finalised the details of his divorce from Myra. Eddie had promised to fly out to meet him once the papers were signed.

‘Aren’t you Richie Tozier?’ a girl cried, rushing up to him. She was chewing pink bubble-gum.

Richie started. ‘Uh, yeah, hi.’ Periodically, he darted glances at the gate exit.

She squealed, ‘Oh my gosh, I am such a huge fan. Could I get a picture?’

He scratched the back of his neck, ‘Sure, sure.’

The girl pulled out a phone bedazzled with rhinestones and held it up to take a picture of them both. As the camera flashed, Eddie emerged from customs with his suitcase and cabin bag.

Richie hollered, ‘Eddie!’

Eddie beamed when he saw Richie and started to walk over. ‘Hey, Rich.’ He was about to go in for a kiss when he noticed the blonde beside him.

‘Oh my gosh, are you famous too?’ the girl asked. She raised her camera and took another picture.

Eddie coughed, ‘No, no, I’m not a celebrity.’

The girl shrugged and turned back to Richie. ‘Thanks. Can’t wait for the next tour!’ then she flounced away.

Proudly, Eddie smiled, ‘I guess I’m gonna have to get used to people recognising you.’

He wished that he could kiss Richie now, but he wasn’t sure if he should whilst his fans were around. Eddie knew that the comedian Trashmouth was a persona, but the world didn’t. They hadn’t talked about how their relationship might affect Richie’s work and public image.

‘I’m still not used to it,’ Richie admitted. ‘Come on, I’ve got a car out front.’

Eddie widened his eyes as they spotted the sleek black vehicle, chauffeur in the driver’s seat, tinted windows. As Richie opened the door for him, he asked, ‘Is this how you live every day?’

Richie laughed and climbed in after him, slamming the door. ‘Not at all, but it’s your first time in LA.’ He laced his hand with Eddie’s and leaned over to kiss him. ‘And I really want you to like it.’

He reached behind himself and fetched a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He popped it; bubbles fizzed over the neck.

‘You’ve pulled out all the stops,’ Eddie said, feeling giddy. Nobody had ever made such an effort for him before.

Richie grinned, ‘What should we toast? Your divorce?’

Eddie lowered his eyelids, ‘Maybe not.’

‘Your mom?’ Richie suggested, and Eddie slapped him. He softened, smiling, ‘To you and me, then.’

Eddie raised his glass, ‘You and me.’

They drove and drank. Eddie peered out of the window at the passing California sites as he recounted stories from the past couple of weeks away. Richie couldn’t tear his eyes from Eddie, so glad to see him again, his heart pounding at the thought of having Eddie in his LA home.

Richie’s house was gated, white, with modest grounds stuffed with shrubbery. It looked like a single floor from the driveway, with kitchen, living space and master bedroom, but there was a second floor hollowed into the ground where Richie had a second bedroom, a home cinema system and a bar.

‘Fuck me,’ Eddie breathed as he stepped through the front door, gawping at the high ceilings, the monochrome décor.

‘God, Eddie, control yourself for two minutes,’ Richie joked, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist. He leaned down to kiss Eddie’s neck.

‘There is no fucking way you designed this yourself,’ Eddie commented.

Richie snorted, ‘Fuck no. I had so much help. It’s not normally quite this clean either, but I knew you were coming and would roast me if it wasn’t.’

Eddie wandered through the kitchen, pulling out drawers and opening the fridge, humming to himself. He poked his head into the bedroom, then the bathroom. He flopped down on the sofas at the far end of the room.

‘You like it?’ Richie asked, sitting down beside him.

Eddie chuckled, ‘I fucking love it.’

‘Good,’ Richie exhaled, then held up his hand. There was a key in it.

‘What’s this?’ Eddie asked, his throat closing.

‘Move in with me?’ Richie babbled. ‘I know it’s a big step, and I know that you have a life in New York and a job and we’d have to get your stuff over here and –’

‘Beep beep, Richie,’ Eddie said, kissing him to stop him talking. ‘I’d love to.’

Richie’s heart skipped, ‘Wait, really?’

‘Yeah, why? Didn’t you mean it?’ Eddie scoffed.

Richie clasped his hands either side of Eddie’s face. ‘Course I fucking do. I love you so much.’

Eddie smiled, ‘I love you too, Rich.’ He took the key from Richie’s hand. It glinted in the light.

‘Are you sure?’ Richie checked, nervous that he was putting too much pressure on Eddie too quickly.

He nodded, ‘I’m sure. Maybe I can get a job that was invented after fun,’ he jested. ‘Besides, I don’t really have anything tying me to New York anymore. And,’ he screwed up his nose, ‘I really do want to live with you. I may have been hoping you’d ask.’

Richie felt like he could burst. He kissed Eddie hard, pushing him backwards until his head leant against the armrest, pinning him down. Eddie’s hands ran up Richie’s back and started to tug at his shirt.

‘I’ve missed you,’ Richie growled as his shirt slipped over his head.

Eddie hitched his knee between Richie’s thighs to haul him closer, ‘I’ve missed you too.’

Richie removed Eddie’s shirt and planted kisses across his chest, biting at Eddie’s neck. Eddie moaned, so Richie bit harder.

‘Fuck!’ Eddie yelped. He touched the tender skin, ‘Did you just give me a fucking hickey?’

Richie leant back to admire his handiwork. He laughed darkly, ‘Ha, fucking hell, I have as well.’ He rubbed his thumb over the purple mark.

‘Great,’ Eddie said, his cheeks burning pink. ‘Are you fourteen or something?’

‘If I was, it’d be you that’d be in trouble, not me,’ Richie noted. When he saw Eddie was still pouting, he appeased, ‘Aw, come on. I was never allowed to give you a hickey when we were kids. Think of it as a rite of passage.’

Eddie tried to fight the smile, ‘You are such an asshole.’

On the coffee table, Richie’s phone vibrated. He leaned over to check the message. ‘Okay, we have about an hour and then we need to get ready.’

Eddie furrowed his brow. ‘For what?’

‘Dinner reservation,’ Richie explained.

Eddie’s breath hitched. ‘You’re full of surprises.’

‘You have no idea,’ Richie’s eyes twinkled. ‘Now, what are we going to do with the next hour?’

Eddie hummed and stroked Richie’s bare shoulders. ‘I can think of something.’

\---

An hour and a half later, Richie ducked his head into the bathroom where Eddie was fiddling with his hair. ‘Ready to go?’

Am I overdressed?’ Eddie squinted, ‘Or do you just always look underdressed?’

Richie grinned, ‘It’s a gift. Are you ready or not?’

‘How do I look?’ Eddie asked, flattening a crease in his trouser pocket.

‘Awful,’ Richie said, reaching for his hand and dragging him away.

‘Richie,’ Eddie whined.

Richie opened the front door. ‘You look great and you know it. Let’s go!’

‘What is with the hurry?’ Eddie chuckled. ‘They’re not going to run out of food.’

Eddie understood Richie’s excitement the moment they arrived at the restaurant. Seated around the circular table were Ben, Beverly, Bill and Mike. They cheered and rose to their feet as Richie and Eddie swanned in, showering them with greetings and kisses. Eddie was astounded that Richie had managed to gather them all like this to surprise him yet again.

Ben and Beverly both looked wonderfully bronzed following their recent sailing trip. They talked incessantly about their new dog. They named the boat January. They named the dog Donnie.

Bill explained that Audra had been unavailable to join them for dinner due to being on set, but that he was delighted to be there. He told everyone the plot overview for his next book. He promised Mike that he was going to be true to his word and write a happy ending.

Mike gushed about how amazing it had been to finally leave Derry after all these years and recommended some historical monuments that Eddie should check out over his time in California.

Eddie blushed. ‘I’m not exactly going to be in a rush,’ he said cryptically.

Bev leaned on her elbows, ‘What do you mean by that?’

Eddie swallowed. ‘Well, I might just be staying here.’ He linked hands with Richie on the table. ‘Permanently.’

Bev’s eyes sparkled. She looked at Richie, ‘You asked?’ Richie nodded, and she looked at Eddie, ‘And you said?’ Eddie nodded, and she squealed, ‘Congratulations, guys. I’m so happy for you both.’

Bill chuckled, ‘I can only imagine you two living together.’

Mike agreed, ‘It’s going to be chaos. I bet you can’t wait.’

Ben leaned backwards on his chair, ‘Can I ask you guys something?’

‘Sure,’ Richie shrugged.

‘When did this actually start?’ he narrowed his eyes. ‘Because we all have different ideas.’

‘I’m curious,’ Eddie smirked. ‘What do you all think?’

Ben went around the room sharing the opinions. ‘Mike thinks this has been going on since the latter half of high school. I think that Richie knew as a kid, but it’s new for you, Eddie. Bill thinks you both knew when you were kids but neither of you acted on it until now, but Bev thought that it was already happening when she met you, so,’ he laughed. ‘Settle the argument for us.’

‘Wow you’ve all really discussed this, haven’t you?’ Richie laughed.

Richie and Eddie looked at each other. They both had the same thought: this is the first time that we’re telling our story.

‘No one is exactly right,’ Eddie clarified. ‘We actually got together about a month or so after we fought It. The first time.’

‘Jesus,’ Ben whistled. ‘That long ago?’

‘When did you know though?’ Bev asked. ‘Because if you knew before, then I still count that as a win for me.’

Richie smiled and turned to Eddie. ‘That is actually an excellent question. You know mine, I think, but I don’t know yours.’

Eddie put his finger on his nose. ‘You knew that day on the bridge, didn’t you? When I fell off my bike.’

Richie nodded, ‘I was making fun of you for whining.’

Eddie went on, thinking hard. ‘We were at the movie theatre. All of us Losers. It wasn’t any special occasion. You were pissing me off by eating all the popcorn and I looked over and,’ he waved his palm, ‘I knew.’

Ben grinned, ‘So you both annoyed the other one into loving you.’

‘Basically.’ Richie agreed. ‘Then we were together all through high school.’

Mike said, ‘So I was half-right, but I will admit, I never thought it at the time. It was only after I saw you in Eddie’s room at the Derry Inn that I started to put it together. Amazed you managed to keep it a secret.’

Bill furrowed his brow, ‘We hung out all the time. How did none of us know this?’

Eddie’s eyes clouded over, sadly. ‘One of you knew.’

Richie squeezed his hand. The other Losers dipped their heads, each taking a moment to remember the missing member of their team.

‘In a weird way, isn’t that kind of perfect?’ Bev broke the silence, smiling gently. ‘At least Stan got to know you how we all know you now. He got to see that you’re happy together.’

Richie blinked away the tears as he nodded.

‘So, what happened after high school?’ Ben asked.

Mike reeled, ‘Fuck. Richie moved away right after graduation.’

Eddie nodded solemnly, ‘He did. And we all know what happened back then whenever someone left Derry.’

Ben looked at Bev and gulped. ‘God, that must have been awful. After you had all those years together.’

Eddie didn’t want to think about it. ‘Same thing happened to me when I left for college. I forgot.’

Richie took a glug of his drink. ‘Then there was New York.’

The Losers snapped their heads around. This was a twist they had not been expecting.

Bill smacked his hands down on the table. It looked like he might climb on top of it, he was so excited. ‘What happened in New York? What happened in New York?’

Eddie put his head in his hands, ‘You had to bring up New York,’ he groaned.

Richie slapped his shoulder. ‘It’s an important part of the story. I call it: the bit where Eddie is an asshole,’ he announced dramatically.

‘And I call this conversation: the bit where Richie is an asshole.’ Eddie rebuked, but there was no malice in it, a smile on his lips.

‘I mean isn’t most of our lives the bit where Richie is an asshole?’ Bev suggested, and everyone laughed.

‘That’s fair,’ Richie agreed.

‘What happened in New York?’ Bill asked again, through gritted teeth.

Mike glanced at him. ‘You should probably tell us before Bill has an embolism.’

‘So, I started dating Myra back end of college,’ Eddie began. ‘Couple of years later I’m out on the town and I go to this comedy club.’

‘No way,’ Ben said in anticipation.

Eddie nodded, ‘It was Richie’s show. But I didn’t recognise him. I watched it. I thought it was terrible, obviously, and then I went home.’

Richie objected, ‘That’s a lie. He thought I was hilarious. So much so, that he recognised me from that show when we saw each other again a few years later.’

Bev raked her hands through her hair, ‘This is wild.’

‘You were working at that pretentious coffee place,’ Eddie waggled his fingers.

Richie balked, ‘Who are you calling pretentious? You’re the one that was buying coffee there.’

‘Ah, but we’ve already established these are my asshole years,’ Eddie smirked.

‘I meant to ask,’ Richie leaned in, ‘are they gonna end anytime soon?’

Mike laughed, ‘Come on. Did you recognise Eddie when you saw him?’

‘Nope,’ Richie shook his head, ‘but we both kind of knew something was up.’

‘Weird things started to come back to us,’ Eddie explained.

Richie snapped his fingers, ‘I straight up guessed Eddie’s name before he told me.’

Bev’s eyes flashed, ‘Oh, that must have been so spooky.’

Eddie went on, ‘So Richie tells me about this next show he’s doing Downtown.’

‘You asked,’ Richie peppered in.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Eddie waved him off. ‘Anyway, I go to the show, but this time Richie meets me after.’

‘I really thought you were with that guy Cal.’ Richie widened his eyes at Eddie.

‘Which is crazy,’ Eddie insisted.

‘It’s not that crazy.’ He turned to the rest of the group, ‘Have any of you met Cal?’ They shook their heads. ‘Well, you’ll meet him at some point and you’ll see that it’s not crazy.’ When Bill raised an eyebrow, Richie mouthed, ‘Hot.’

‘Sounds like you were a bit jealous, Rich,’ Mike suggested.

‘Maybe a little,’ Richie admitted.

‘We talk for a while,’ Eddie continued, ‘and then we head down to this club and Richie starts flirting.’

‘What do you mean _I _start flirting? We’d been flirting all night.’ Richie was indignant.

Eddie chuckled, ‘Point is, he says something that he’s said before and it makes us both start to remember.’

‘And then it feels like this ton of bricks has been dropped on us and most of it’s there.’ Richie was gesticulating wildly, ‘It’s messy and a bit broken but most of it’s there.’

Eddie rubbed his temples, ‘And I just can’t think straight.’

‘Was that a pun?’ Bill asked. ‘If so, kudos.’

Richie laughed. ‘We get a cab back to my place and one thing leads to another.’

Eddie held up his hands, ‘Alright, alright, let’s not debase ourselves.’

Richie mouthed at Bill again, ‘Sex.’

‘But you were with Myra,’ Ben chided.

Eddie nodded, ‘But I was with Myra.’

‘Hence the asshole,’ Richie swigged his drink.

‘We don’t need to hammer it home,’ Eddie requested.

Richie nodded, ‘We definitely hammered it –’

Eddie snapped, ‘Richie!’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Richie shrugged. ‘I’m irresistible.’

‘You are literally the worst person on the planet,’ Eddie corrected.

‘Seconded,’ the Losers chimed in chorus.

Richie glared at them all. ‘So, the morning after, Eddie goes.’

‘And I’m freaking out,’ Eddie said, ‘so I decide I have to go and see Richie to talk things out.’

‘And by talk things out, he means break up with me,’ Richie pouted.

‘Oh, you are such a little shit,’ Eddie nudged him.

‘Seconded,’ The Losers chimed in chorus again.

‘You don’t have to do that every time,’ Richie dismissed.

‘So, I turn up,’ Eddie sighed, ‘and this is when Richie tells me he’s moving to LA.’

Richie jumped in, ‘And I immediately asked him to come with me.’

‘Which was insane,’ Eddie pressed.

‘Which was insane,’ Richie agreed, ‘but I totally meant it.’

‘But –’ Eddie started.

‘Eddie was engaged,’ Richie said, finishing his drink.

‘Eddie!’ Ben scolded.

Eddie groaned, ‘Fuck. I don’t come off well here.’

‘You make up for it,’ Richie smiled.

‘You reckon?’ Eddie smiled back.

Richie turned back to the group. ‘We have this big heartfelt goodbye and then I go to LA and we forget. Then Mike calls and it all comes back again.’

‘When we got to Derry, we talked,’ Eddie said.

‘Just talked?’ Mike asked leadingly.

‘Just talked,’ Eddie cemented, whilst Richie pretended to snore. ‘But I figured it out. Eventually. And I told Richie I was sorry and that I wanted to try and make it work.’

Richie scoffed, ‘And then Eddie had to go and die right after we got back together.’

‘I didn’t die, asshole,’ Eddie whimpered. ‘God, you are so dramatic.’

‘No,’ Richie corrected. ‘You died. Then I went back in time. That’s what it felt like.’

There was a thick aura as Bev added, ‘I know what you mean. It’s,’ she shuddered, and Ben wrapped his arm over her shoulders, ‘scarring.’

‘Eddie saves me, I save Eddie,’ Richie recounted quickly, ‘We kill It and get out of there, he confesses his undying love to me, obviously, and you all know the rest.’

Bill leaned on his elbow, ‘Can I use this for a book, or?’

‘That’s one hell of a story,’ Mike agreed.

‘It makes me wonder,’ Bill mused. ‘Do you think any of the rest of us crossed paths and just never knew?’

Ben looked at Bev. ‘Maybe.’

Bev looked back at him, ‘Would you rather we had or hadn’t?’

He tucked a loose tendril of her red hair behind her ear, ‘I’d like to think maybe we did.’

Bill and Mike smiled at each other.

Eddie looked at Richie and whispered, ‘You know they’re right. It’s a pretty good story.’

‘It’s a fucking great story,’ Richie whispered back. He kissed Eddie. ‘I love you, Eds.’

‘I love you too.’

Bill rubbed his hands together, ‘What do you say? Another round of drinks?’

\---

Richie had twenty missed calls from his manager. He furrowed his brow at his phone as he scrolled through the long list, wondering what the fuss could be about.

Eddie rolled over to Richie’s side of the bed, nestling his head into the crook of Richie’s shoulder. He slurred sleepily, ‘What’s going on?’

Richie shook his head, ‘I have no idea. We met up just two days ago, and everything seemed fine. The team has a couple of months to write and then I’ve got shows starting uptown. Maybe something’s fallen through.’

Then Bill rang.

‘Hello?’ Richie said, putting the phone on speaker.

‘Hey, Rich.’ His voice was tinny. ‘Have you seen the _Holly Would_ article?’

‘That stupid tabloid?’ Eddie screwed up his face, reaching for his own phone so that he could search. The results came up quickly. A grainy picture of Eddie and Richie kissing at the restaurant. Beside it, a picture of Richie, Eddie and the blonde fan at the airport. The headlines were uninventive. ‘Rich, look.’

Richie flopped back on the pillow, ‘Ugh, fucking hell. The last thing I need is another tabloid scandal. I’ve already been on a mystery hiatus after screwing up my last tour to go to Derry.’

‘Thought I’d give you a head’s up.’ Bill offered weakly.

Eddie kept reading through the article. ‘Does anyone take these articles that seriously? About halfway down they’ve singled out that Bill isn’t with Audra and are speculating that he’s having an affair with Mike.’

‘Yeah, that’s how I found the article,’ Bill sighed. ‘My agent called me too. And Audra’s called her.’

Richie groaned. ‘I’ll have to go in and speak to Carol today. See if we can clear this up.’

‘Okay, talk to you soon, Rich.’ Bill said and hung up.

Eddie’s stomach twisted, ‘What are you going to say to them?’

Richie looked at Eddie. ‘The truth. We’ll figure something out, don’t worry.’ He kissed his forehead.

Eddie craned his neck up to kiss Richie on the lips. ‘Paparazzi. How the hell did I end up here? I’m a risk analyst.’

Richie laughed, ‘Now you’re a celebrity boytoy. Trophy husband.’

Eddie snorted, ‘Hardly. We’re not even married yet.’

‘Yet?’ Richie raised an eyebrow.

Eddie squirmed away, ‘Oh, fuck off.’

Richie grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back. ‘I think about that stuff too, you know.’

Eddie swallowed, ‘Who would have guessed you’re such a fucking sap?’

Richie grinned, ‘You’re no better, asshole.’ He kissed him again. ‘Right, I better go and sort this thing. I’ll see you later, okay?’

Eddie stretched and spread across the entirety of the double bed. ‘Okay. Let me know how it goes.’

Richie hovered in the doorway of the bedroom, admiring the sight. Their bedroom, not his bedroom. Their bed, not his bed. He didn’t care what his managers had to say. This was the happiest he’d ever been, and he wasn’t going to let them take any of it away.

\---

His manager slapped the tabloid papers down on the desk in front of Richie. ‘What the fuck is this?’

‘Eddie,’ Richie stated plainly, folding his arms. ‘He’s my live-in boyfriend and we’re in love.’

Carol sighed and walked around the desk to stand in front of Richie. She put her hands up in the air. ‘Richie, I could kiss you. This,’ she breathed, ‘this is perfect.’

‘What?’ Richie spluttered, baffled.

‘You ran off in the middle of a tour. You fucked up the last show. Now you’re back, we were going to be forced to do a rebrand anyway. I thought we were going to have to make something up. Rehab. Tragedy in the family. But you, you beautiful bastard,’ she clapped her hands together, ‘are coming out.’

Richie felt the sweat brewing on his forehead. ‘Wow,’ he said. Immediately he thought of his father on the East Coast.

Excited, she counted on her fingers, ‘We’ll do an interview. Press release. Paparazzi tip-offs. We’ll announce that you have a new show and you’re gonna talk about your new life.’

Richie held up his hand, ‘Okay, first of all, this is not a new life.’

‘How’d you think this Eddie would feel about getting in front of the camera?’ she asked.

‘Not good, I’m guessing.’ Richie’s lips were a tight line. ‘Carol, listen to me. Not that I’m not thrilled that you’re cool with this,’ he blinked rapidly, ‘but this is a lot to think about.’

‘Talk to me.’

‘For starters, anything that happens in the public eye affects Eddie and I don’t want him paraded around like some show pony for publicity. So, no fucking paparazzi tip-offs.’

‘Respect your privacy. Done.’ Carol swiped her hands together. ‘Anything else?’

Richie looked through the glass pane of her office door at the team of writers. ‘They’re not writing it for me. The show. If this is happening, it’s my show.’

Carol clicked her tongue, ‘You have two weeks to put something together. It better be funny and gay as hell.’

Richie coughed, ‘Okay, second of all, I’m not gay.’

She cocked her head, ‘Then what are you?’

‘I guess I’m,’ he trilled his lips, ‘bisexual?’ The corner of his mouth lifted. He’d never used that word before.

‘Even better. Very topical,’ Carol nodded approvingly. ‘Okay, we should address the rumours sooner rather than later. Oh,’ she jerked, ‘maybe we could get you on Ellen.’

Richie put his head in his hands, ‘Christ alive. Can’t I do an interview at the _Reporter_ or something?’

‘You’re right. Both it is,’ Carol beamed. Then she pointed at him, ‘Oh, and the big one. Can’t believe I forgot. Award show. Couple of months away. I want you to bring this Eddie as your date.’

Richie sat back and smiled at the idea, ‘Yeah. Okay. That’s a deal.’ He laughed, ‘He’s gonna lose his shit about what to wear.’

‘Any other questions give me a call.’ Carol smiled. ‘Oh, and if I call you twenty times, you answer the goddamn phone, Tozier.’

‘Got it.’

‘Alright, get out of my office. Write that show. Funny, funny, funny,’ she demanded.

Richie left.

\---

‘Richie!’ Eddie called from the bedroom.

‘What?’ Richie asked, marching towards the door. He adjusted the cuff links on his shirt. He walked in to see Eddie standing in front of the mirror in his own, brand new tuxedo. He whistled, ‘You always did look better than me in a tux.’

‘And I still haven’t learned how to tie a fucking bowtie.’ Eddie spat, frustrated. ‘Can you do it?’

Richie swanned over and span Eddie around, pulling the bowtie out of his hands as he did so. ‘Sure.’

Eddie looked him up and down. ‘You look,’ he breathed.

‘Clean?’ Richie asked, reliving their prom night in stark clarity. He ran his hands down Eddie’s lapels.

Eddie smiled, ‘I was gonna say great. But now that you mention it,’ he agreed.

‘Fuck off,’ Richie said, kissing him. He ran his hand through Eddie’s hair.

Eddie slapped it away, ‘Stop it, I spent ages getting it to look right.’

Richie rolled his eyes. ‘Are you ready? Think the limo’s already outside.’

‘I’m a little nervous, Rich,’ he admitted, pulling at his collar. ‘All those people. All those cameras.’

Richie waved dismissively, opening the front door. ‘Don’t worry about them. You’re so short that people might not even notice you.’

Eddie lowered his eyelids.

Richie slid his hand into Eddie’s, ‘You’re gonna look great in the pictures. There will be cheering and clapping. We spend the evening with some amazing people and then we come back home together. I’m really excited, Eds.’

Seeing Richie so buzzing, love and pride dancing in his eyes, warm smile plastered across his face, Eddie relaxed. He squeezed Richie’s hand. ‘Okay, I can do this. You and me.’

‘You and me,’ Richie agreed, and they walked up to the car.

‘Hey!’ Bill cried when they opened the limousine door. He was wearing a grey suit, his arm wrapped around Audra, who looked radiant in a red gown.

The four of them shared a drink in the back of the car. Eddie thought about how he had once considered becoming a celebrity limousine driver. Now, he got to ride around in the back of one.

‘God, Richie, I just loved your new show,’ Audra gushed. ‘I could hardly breathe I was laughing so hard. What was that line I just loved?’ she asked Bill.

Bill thought, ‘It was: I don’t understand why people have been so surprised that I’m bisexual. Of course I couldn’t limit myself to fucking only half the adult population.’

Richie chuckled, ‘I must admit, it feels good to write my own stuff again. The support from the fans has been incredible. My friends too.’ There was a lump in his throat as he thought about his father. He hadn’t heard a word from him.

‘This is your first time at an awards show, I’m guessing, Eddie?’ Audra asked, placing her hand on Eddie’s jiggling knee.

‘Yeah,’ Eddie nodded. ‘I don’t know what to expect.’

Audra chuckled, ‘Expect to have fun.’

The car pulled up to the red carpet. Richie took Eddie’s hand. ‘You ready?’

‘Not at all,’ Eddie gulped, then the door opened.

Richie started to wave at the crowd. Eddie gripped tightly onto his hand, startled and blinded by the flashes of the camera. Bill and Audra stepped out behind them, posing, answering questions from the reporters about who made Audra’s dress.

‘What do we do?’ Eddie whispered, smiling nervously.

Richie looked at him and beamed, ‘Just follow my lead, okay.’

‘Richie! Richie! Over here!’ a brunette reporter hollered, waving and thrusting a microphone into his face. ‘You’ve got to introduce us to your new man.’

‘Oh, he’s definitely an old man,’ Richie said quickly.

‘Still younger than you,’ Eddie reminded. He turned to the reporter. ‘Eddie Kaspbrak. Nice to meet you.’ Awkwardly, he undid and redid the buttons on his jacket.

‘So what’s it like dating the infamous Trashmouth?’ the woman asked.

‘Loud,’ Eddie said. ‘Our house is just constant noise.’

‘Are you a Trashmouth too?’ she laughed.

‘I mean, Eddie brushes his teeth like six times a day, it’s way too clean to be a Trashmouth.’ Richie laughed.

‘But I do curse like a sailor,’ Eddie grimaced.

‘He actually has a lot in common with sailors,’ Richie snorted, and Eddie slapped his arm.

‘So your last tour ended rather suddenly, Richie. Has that got anything to do with Eddie?’

Scratching the back of his neck, Richie said, ‘Yeah, I guess so. I realised I didn’t like the material anymore. I, uh,’ he sighed, ‘didn’t think it really reflected who I am. Then Eddie came back into my life and I’ve been able to come forward and write a show that I’m really proud of.’

Eddie beamed at him. It wasn’t often that Richie took the opportunity to be serious. He was proud of him for giving an honest answer.

‘Hold on, did you say that Eddie came _back _into your life?’ she repeated. ‘Is there more to your story that our readers don’t know?’

Eddie glanced at Richie, who gave an encouraging nod. ‘We actually grew up together.’

‘Wow. What was the Trashmouth like as a boy?’

Eddie sighed, ‘He has barely changed. His jokes are still just as terrible now as they always were. As is his fashion sense.’

‘Well, I think you look dapper tonight, Richie.’ The reporter insisted.

‘That’s because I picked out the suit,’ Eddie grinned.

‘He’s right,’ Richie jerked his head at Eddie, ‘I have dreadful taste.’

They laughed together as the reporter gave a few parting platitudes and sent them on inside.

‘You’re a natural,’ Richie shook his head. ‘I should have known you would be.’

‘Why?’ Eddie asked.

‘Because you’re such a little bitch,’ Richie said honestly.

‘You bring it out in me,’ Eddie assured.

Richie barely noticed who won a single award that evening. All he could feel was euphoria, as Eddie slapped Richie’s thigh when he laughed, as Eddie tweaked the sleeves of his suit in anticipation of the nominees, as Eddie cheered the winners with a great smile on his face. 

They took the car home with Bill and Audra, waved their goodbyes from the pathway leading up to their house. As Eddie used his key to let them inside, Richie leaned up against the porch and considered for the millionth time just how lucky he was.

Eddie went straight into the bedroom, hollering about how his feet ached and he couldn’t wait to get out of the suit.

Richie went to the kitchen, looking at the fridge magnet holding up the two duplicate streams of photobooth pictures they had taken in their teens. He peeked at the underside at the R+E and smiled. Then he poured himself and Eddie a glass of water.

The rest of the kitchen had been edited by Eddie’s influence. All the utensils were neatly organised and in the same colour. There was a calendar on the wall. He’d replaced Richie’s dishwasher fluid with ‘the good stuff’. There were never crumbs on the counters, there were never plates left on the side.

The bathroom was the same. Eddie’s hair products took up an entire row in the bathroom cabinet. There was a first aid kit underneath the sink. He had a regimented skincare regime which he suggested Richie also follow. Richie had protested at first, but he did like how soft his beard was now. There was even a window squeegee in the shower to wipe the water from the glass so that it didn’t streak. Richie always forgot to use it.

Richie smiled at his reflection in the mirror and began to brush his teeth.

Eddie came out of the bedroom in tube socks so that his feet didn’t get cold on the bathroom tiles. He was wearing pyjama shorts that were too short and one of Richie’s old shirts. His hair was still immaculate, but there were dark circles under his eyes. He yawned as he came into the bathroom.

‘Did you have a good night in the end?’ Richie asked, finishing with his teeth.

Eddie started brushing his. ‘I did. I’m exhausted now though.’

Richie quickly went to the bedroom to disrobe. He called out to Eddie, ‘Guess what we’re doing tomorrow?’

Eddie moaned, the toothbrush hanging from his lip, as Richie returned in his boxer shorts. ‘Oh God. What?’

Richie came up behind him, ‘Nothing,’ he said dreamily.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, ‘I thought you were going to say each other.’

Richie smirked, ‘Well, that’s a given.’

Eddie finished brushing his teeth. He sluiced with mouthwash. He flossed. Then he turned around to Richie and kissed him. ‘It’s going to be so nice to do nothing with you.’

Richie ran his hands down Eddie’s arms, ‘We can stay in bed until midday.’

‘And have vanilla ice cream for breakfast.’ Eddie started to walk towards the bedroom.

‘And popcorn for dinner,’ Richie followed him.

Eddie flopped down onto the duvet, ‘And watch scary movies.’

‘And not get dressed all day,’ Richie climbed on top of him.

‘I mean, we should probably shower,’ Eddie screwed up his nose.

Richie kissed his collarbone. ‘Doesn’t mean we have to get dressed.’

Eddie hummed, ‘That sounds like a good day.’

Richie smiled, then pressed his lips to Eddie’s. ‘It really does.’

\---

Richie’s tour ended up being so successful in California that they decided to extend the dates across the USA, hitting a different state roughly each fortnight. Eddie had decided to come with him, relishing the opportunity to travel, but he also had a few coincidental trips planned.

As they landed in Atlanta, Georgia, their stomachs flipped. They had called up and been invited to stay with Patricia Uris, Stanley’s widow. They had never met in person before, and both Richie and Eddie were unsure how comfortable the union would be.

Patricia’s home, what had been Stanley’s home, was beautiful. There was a tree to the side of the house. A bird feeder hung from one of the lower branches. A goldfinch pecked at the seeds inside.

Eddie stopped short by the mailbox. He felt as though the place were shielded by an impenetrable glass dome that he could not walk through.

‘Everything okay, Eds?’ Richie asked, halfway down the garden path.

Eddie inhaled, emotional. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just,’ he didn’t finish. What he wanted to say was: I feel like he’s here.

Richie walked back to Eddie and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know,’ he said.

Patricia Uris opened her front door, ‘Are you coming in?’ she asked, smiling brightly.

The men walked swiftly up towards her.

‘Hi, Patty,’ Richie greeted, and immediately threw his arms around her.

She made a noise of surprise, but let her hands rub up and down Richie’s shoulder blades. ‘It’s very nice to meet you too, Richie.’

Richie let go and she opened her arms to Eddie. He put his arms around her gingerly, almost disbelieving that she was a real person in flesh and blood. He’d heard her voice, read her letters, but that was so different to seeing the rosiness in her cheeks, the roots coming through her dyed hair, the icing sugar dusted on the front of her apron.

‘I hope you’re hungry,’ she said, ushering them inside. ‘I’m sorry. Time ran away with me a little and I wasn’t able to make as much food as I wanted.’

Richie gawped at the spread on the table. It was ridiculous. It could have fed a dozen people or more. ‘Fucking hell.’

Patty scolded, ‘Language.’

‘Are we expecting company?’ Eddie asked.

‘Oh don’t be silly. I just expected it might have been a while since you had a hearty home-cooked meal.’

‘This looks incredible,’ Richie gushed. ‘You really didn’t have to.’

They sat down and ate. Patricia Uris was a delight. She was talkative and no-nonsense, motherly in a caring, generous way. She seemed genuinely interested in Richie and Eddie, now knowing how important they had been to her husband. She liked to talk about Stan too, she seemed comfortable doing so, asking questions about what he had been like as a boy, wanting them to recount stories.

She gave them a tour of her home. There were photographs of Stan everywhere, gradually ageing through the years. He looked so happy. Eddie picked up their wedding photographs.

‘How long were you married?’ he asked quietly.

Patty started to wander back downstairs. ‘Oh gosh. About thirteen years.’

Richie whistled as he followed her, ‘Lucky lady.’

She smiled softly, ‘I am.’

Eddie put the picture back in its place on the dresser. He turned to look behind him, saw the bathroom, saw the bathtub. He shuddered. He couldn’t fathom how Patricia was able to walk into that room every day, knowing that it was the place that her husband died.

Eddie went downstairs. ‘Patty, can I ask you something?’

‘Well sure,’ she said, going to the kitchen to make a round of tea that nobody had asked for.

‘Why did you stay here?’ he asked softly. ‘I mean, after he passed.’

Patricia hummed sadly. ‘I get asked that a lot. I suppose it’s hard to explain unless you’ve lost somebody so close to you, but I think you get tied to where they were last.’ She sniffed, stirring milk and sugar. ‘And even though it ended sadly,’ she breathed raggedly, ‘we had a lot of happy memories in this house.’

Richie came up behind Eddie and rested his chin on Eddie’s head. ‘I’m sure you did.’

Patty gestured, ‘When I see the kitchen counters, I think of how we argued over what colour granite we wanted. When I see the lounge walls, I remember the day that we painted them.’ She looked out of the window. ‘See that tree? We planted it together as a sapling and watched it grow. He loved to watch the birds on that feeder. We’d sit outside for hours.’

‘He always liked birds,’ Eddie said, remembering how he’d carry binoculars out to the quarry, stuff a pocket guide to birds in his jean shorts.

‘I mean, isn’t that why you came?’ Patty asked. ‘Because you thought you might feel some kind of connection to him by being here?’ She smiled, not expecting them to answer. ‘I’m sure you do.’

‘We do,’ Eddie acknowledged.

Patricia sat down in her armchair. ‘Tomorrow you can go up to the cemetery, if you like.’

Richie clenched his jaw and sat down on the sofa. Eddie sat beside him and gently patted his thigh.

‘Thank you, Patty,’ Eddie said.

Patty smiled, ‘Drink your tea.’

\---

Richie and Eddie walked solemnly up to the gravesite. Richie’s hands were shoved deep into his pockets. Eddie kept fiddling with his jacket, zipping and unzipping, unsure whether he was warm or cold. After some searching, they located Stanley Uris.

Richie exhaled heavily. ‘This is weird,’ he said quietly.

Eddie took his hand, ‘I know.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rock to place on the grave. It was one of the few Jewish traditions which Stan had always liked; to leave stones instead of flowers. Stones don’t disappear.

Richie took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

Eddie stroked his shoulder and kissed his cheek, ‘I’ll give you a minute, okay?’

Richie nodded, and Eddie wandered away. He stared at the words carved into the headstone. It felt wrong to see the name. So definite, so final.

‘Hi, Stan,’ he said. ‘So, I’m here in Georgia touring my show, if you can believe. Turns out some people do laugh at my jokes,’ he chuckled. ‘And I’m here with Eddie, but I figure if anyone could have expected that, then it would be you. You always had us sussed.’ He pouted. ‘We live in a house in LA. Eddie keeps it so clean it feels like a hotel sometimes, except he doesn’t leave chocolates on the pillow.’

Richie felt Stan’s presence, like he was standing beside him, listening.

Richie went on, ‘We get to see Bill pretty often. He and his wife Audra spend a lot of time in California because she’s an actress and he’s whipped. She’s beautiful, Stan, and really kind. I think you would have liked her.’

Eddie looked at Richie from afar. He was running his mouth off, just like when he and Stan used to talk as kids. Some things didn’t change.

Richie bit his lip. ‘I like your wife, too, even though she keeps telling me off for cursing. She,’ he breathed, ‘God, you can tell she just loves you so fucking much. I’m glad that you had that while you did. She said she always disapproved of you reading Bill’s books. I’ve told her to read the latest one. He didn’t fuck up the ending this time.’

Richie could see Eddie meandering through the grass out of the corner of his eye. He was reading the names on the other headstones absentmindedly.

Richie clenched his jaw. ‘Ben and Bev are happy. They keep getting more dogs and naming them after the New Kids on the Block. They’re such fucking losers. Mike’s actually in Australia at the moment. Once he left Derry he decided he wanted to see the whole world. One extreme to the other, you know.’

He looked over at Eddie in the distance. They caught eyes and Eddie smiled at him. Richie waved him back over.

As Eddie walked, he said, ‘I’m really happy Stan. I wish you could see it. I wish you were here.’

‘Hey,’ Eddie greeted.

‘Hey,’ Richie said. ‘Do you want to?’ he offered.

Eddie nodded. ‘Yeah. Thanks, Rich.’

Richie walked away. He didn’t go far, just out of earshot. He chose a patch of grass and lay down, staring up at the clouds.

‘Hey, Stan,’ Eddie said, zipping up his jacket again. ‘It’s been a long time. California’s not that close to Georgia. So, I thought that Richie’s tour was a good opportunity to come visit.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘I don’t know when I’ll next be able to get over here, so I wanted to say a few things now.’

Eddie felt like he could see him, like Stan was there, leaning on the headstone, with his arms folded, blonde hair rippling in the wind.

Eddie sniffed. ‘When we were kids, you were the only one who I opened up to about me and Richie. It might not have been a huge moment for you, but it was for me. And I know that Richie talked to you too. You were the first friend who really knew who I was, who we were.’

Richie spotted shapes in the clouds. He let the sun shine down on him, let the wind chill the skin on his face. He looked over at Eddie and wondered what he was saying.

Eddie lowered his voice. ‘So, I think it’s only fair that you’re the first friend who gets to know this.’ He exhaled heavily. ‘After the tour, when we get home, I’m gonna ask Richie to marry me.’ He smiled. ‘And I really hope he says yes.’

Eddie imagined that Stan would roll his eyes at this last comment. _Of course he’ll say yes._

‘Thanks, Stan,’ Eddie said. ‘For everything.’

Richie ambled back over to Eddie. He kissed his forehead. Eddie craned to kiss his lips.

‘Ready to watch my show?’ Richie asked, as they started to walk away.

Eddie groaned, ‘I’ve seen it like twenty times already.’

‘I still see you laughing,’ Richie prodded him.

‘That’s delirium,’ Eddie corrected.

‘You better be nice, or I’ll drag you onstage again.’ Richie warned.

‘Oh, God, please don’t,’ Eddie begged. ‘No spotlights either.’

‘Definitely can’t promise that,’ Richie shook his head.

‘You’re the worst,’ Eddie said.

‘You love me, Spaghetti,’ Richie teased.

‘I do,’ Eddie said, smiling knowingly to himself. ‘I really do.’

\---

Maine was the last stop on Richie’s tour. They figured they owed it to themselves to go and visit Derry for what might be the last time.

They were surprised by how bright everything seemed, like a dark cloud had been lifted. They traced their histories together, wandering along the kissing bridge, climbing down the quarry cliff face to sit on their island in the sky, poking their heads into the deserted arcade.

They found the hideout in the ground and were baffled and delighted to see it so clean. The old posters had been torn down, the floors swept. There were new games and toys stashed in the corners. The hammock was still standing, clean and well used, with a cushion at one end. This was a safe space for some other group of Losers now.

They walked past the school, the library, the synagogue, the Chinese restaurant, the movie theatre. They walked up to the Niebolt house and stood in front of it. There was a picket sign which read: Condemned.

‘I’ll say,’ Richie scoffed.

As they walked back into the residential area, Eddie stopped outside his old house. ‘Do you remember when you climbed that tree?’ he pointed.

Richie smiled, ‘Yeah. Your mom wasn’t letting you see us after you broke your arm, so I basically broke in.’

‘That was the first time I thought that maybe you felt the same way about me as I did for you,’ Eddie said.

‘That was the day I put the carving on the bridge,’ Richie said.

They kept walking and soon, Richie’s old house came into view. Richie didn’t stop.

Eddie’s brow furrowed, ‘Didn’t your dad move back to Derry a few years ago, after your mom died?’

Richie slaked his tongue over his lips. ‘Uh, yeah. He did.’

‘Is he coming to see the show?’ Eddie asked tentatively.

Richie pulled a face, ‘Ew, no. I’m his kid. You’ve heard the content of my show, right?’ he joked.

Eddie stood in front of him so that he couldn’t keep strolling. ‘Are we seeing him at all?’

Richie avoided his gaze, ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’ Eddie asked gently, but Richie said nothing. ‘Does he even know we’re here?’

‘No, Eddie,’ Richie said, exasperated. ‘If he keeps up with my tour dates, then he’ll know we’re in Maine, but no, I didn’t tell him I was coming to Derry.’ He paused. ‘I haven’t spoken to him since,’ he bit his lip, ‘well, since you and I became public knowledge.’

Eddie felt his insides solidify. ‘Oh. Have you tried calling?’

Richie clenched his jaw. ‘Yeah, I tried. He didn’t pick up.’

‘Richie,’ Eddie said quietly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We weren’t exactly close after I moved to New York. He’s not been a big part of my adult life and I’m okay with that.’

‘Why?’ Eddie asked.

Richie sighed, ‘Mom made it clear before I left that she wouldn’t accept me for who I am. Then she died and that’s one of the last memories I have of her. I’d just rather not have that conversation with my dad. I can’t hear it again.’

Eddie lowered his head, ‘Right.’

‘Surely you of all people can understand that sometimes parents aren’t who you want them to be,’ Richie swallowed.

‘Richie?’ came a voice from somewhere behind them.

Richie froze still. There was a shining fear in his eyes that Eddie hadn’t seen for nearly a year. He turned around, ‘Hi, Dad.’

Wentworth Tozier squinted through his bifocals. ‘Is that Edward Kaspbrak? As I live and breathe,’ he chuckled gruffly.

‘Hello, Mr Tozier.’ Eddie said.

‘Call me Went,’ he insisted. He waved a liver-spotted hand. ‘Come in, come in. Ah, my son comes to surprise his dear old Dad. You never think you’ll see the day.’

Eddie gripped Richie’s hand, ‘Are you okay? We don’t have to do this.’

Richie pushed his glasses up his nose, ‘We do now. For fuck’s sake.’

Eddie and Richie walked up the familiar porch steps with an eerie sense of déjà vu. The house had been decorated almost the same as it had been when they were kids, except there were a few more railway magazines on the end tables and a few more beer cans in the recycling bin.

‘What are you doing in Derry, my boy?’ Went asked, easing himself down into an armchair.

‘I was in Maine anyway. With my tour,’ Richie said, bragging slightly. Went had never been that approving of Richie’s plans for fame, considering them juvenile.

‘Oh, I see,’ Went said. ‘I try to keep up to date with these things, but it’s not easy at my age.’

Richie ducked his head, ‘I’ve been on the tour for over a year, Dad.’

‘Time flies,’ he dismissed. ‘And what are you doing here, Edward?’

Eddie coughed, ‘Uh, I’m here for the tour too.’ He shot a look at Richie.

‘Never could keep you two apart when you were kids,’ Went mused. ‘Nice to see that you’ve stayed such good friends.’

Richie rubbed his forehead as though a migraine was brewing. ‘Dad, have you read anything about me at all in the last couple of years?’ 

Wentworth Tozier stated, ‘Nothing worth mentioning.’

Richie scoffed, ‘Wow, that’s,’ he turned away and walked into the kitchen, ‘that’s just great.’

Eddie followed him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

Richie turned and put his arms around Eddie, resting his chin on Eddie’s hair. There were two plausible realities: either his father didn’t care enough to read about Richie’s life at all, or he had chosen not to believe, accept or reach out to his son. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

‘Eddie, I think I need a minute, okay?’ he said.

He kissed Eddie’s forehead and then headed upstairs to his old bedroom. It looked empty, lifeless. There were no posters on the walls, no comics in the drawers, no clothes on the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed and tried to cry, but he couldn’t. He just sat there.

Downstairs, Eddie went back into the lounge to find Went.

‘What are you doing for work these days, Edward?’ Went asked.

Eddie sat down, ‘I was a risk analyst in New York, but I haven’t been working much recently since I moved to LA.’

‘Risk analyst,’ he nodded approvingly. ‘That’s a good sensible job for a man. Shame you couldn’t talk some sense into Richie. Richie needs some grounding. Boundaries. You always used to be a good influence on him when you were young.’

Eddie sighed, ‘It was the most boring job I ever had. And Richie doesn’t need anyone to talk some sense into him. He’s doing what he does best: making people happy. He makes me happy. It’s him who’s always been the good influence on me, not the other way around.’

‘Well, that’s very flattering.’ Went smiled, taking this as a compliment on his childrearing.

Eddie widened his eyes in disbelief, ‘I think you misunderstand me.’ He rubbed his temples. ‘You do know that Richie and I, we’re –’

‘I know what you are,’ Went said flatly. ‘You. Not my son. Whilst Richie seems to have no problem with your lifestyle,’ he dropped his chin, ‘don’t delude yourself into thinking that—’

‘Oh, you think I’m deluded?’ Eddie snapped.

‘Watch your tone, young man,’ Went warned.

‘No, I won’t,’ Eddie said. ‘I love your son. I’ve loved him for damn near forty years. And whether you like it or not, he loves me too.’

‘It’s nothing personal, Edward,’ Went shook his head. ‘I’m sure you’re an upstanding gentleman, and you’ve been a good friend to Richie. I know it must be hard for you to hear, but Richie isn’t really like that. He’ll come to his senses eventually.’

‘He doesn’t need to come to his senses,’ Eddie pressed. He chewed the inside of his cheek. ‘You know, I was hoping to see you when we were in Maine. I thought,’ he sighed and started again. ‘I love Richie. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. I’ve always known that I was gonna marry him. I didn’t need or even want your blessing, but you’re the only family either of us has left and I wanted to give you a chance to act like it.’

Went looked stunned. Then he licked his lips. ‘I think you should go now, Edward.’

Eddie looked at him. ‘It’s Eddie.’ Then he picked himself up and left the room. He trekked the stairs to find Richie.

‘Hey, Eds,’ Richie greeted numbly.

‘Let’s go,’ Eddie suggested.

Richie nodded and stood. ‘Looks a little different in here, huh?’ he commented. ‘Doesn’t feel like my room anymore.’

Eddie flattened his lips, ‘It’s not.’

Richie kissed him. ‘One more show. Then we can go home.’

Eddie’s heart fluttered. ‘Can’t wait.’

\---

Richie’s last show was a resounding success. The flight from Maine to LA was gruellingly long. There was a celebratory party organised for their return. Bev, Ben, Mike, Bill and Audra were all able to attend.

Bev announced that she was ready to begin designing again, under her own name. Ben had a new project to construct a museum wing in Washington D.C. Mike talked about his planned trip to Tokyo. Bill’s book had been selected for a film adaptation, and Audra was set to star.

The party concluded at an ungodly hour of the morning. Richie and Eddie crashed out on their bed and slept for nearly sixteen hours.

Richie awoke to the smell of pancakes cooking in the kitchen. He groaned and got out of bed, shoving his glasses on his face. He sniffed his armpits and knew he needed a shower. His hair was unruly and wild, tangled. He cracked his knuckles and then his back.

He yawned as he came into the kitchen. ‘I love you,’ he greeted, when he saw the stack of pancakes on the kitchen counter.

Eddie was draped in one of Richie’s merchandise T-shirts. He was on his second cup of coffee already. The stubble was poking through on his chin. His feet ached and were cold, even in his socks and slippers combination. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said.

They decided to eat out on the patio, since it was such a nice day. Across the garden, a goldfinch settled on the fence. Eddie smiled and thought of Stan.

Richie stood once he’d finished eating and walked to where the stone slabs met the grass. He heard Eddie stand up and follow him. ‘It’s been a great year, but I’ve got to say, I’m glad to be home,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think Eddie?’

Richie turned around. Eddie was on the ground. On one knee. There was a navy-blue velvet box in his hand. Inside was a ring.

‘What the fuck?’ Richie garbled.

‘Richie,’ Eddie began carefully.

Richie put both his hands behind his head. ‘What the fuck?’ he said again, quieter, his eyes wide.

‘Richie, I love you,’ Eddie said.

Richie laughed nervously and covered his mouth, ‘Holy fucking shit.’

‘Are you gonna let me do this?’ Eddie complained.

Richie nodded, ‘Yeah. Yeah, go on.’

Eddie shuffled and started again, a great beaming smile on his face, ‘Richie, I love you. There is no one else I would rather fight a demon alien clown entity with. Twice. You’re the biggest fucking asshole on the planet and my best friend and the love of my life.’ He sighed, ‘What do you say, Trashmouth? Want to marry me?’

‘Fuck yeah, Spaghetti,’ Richie said, nodding. ‘I really do.’

Eddie stood and removed the ring from the box. Richie grabbed it and rammed it onto his left hand. He grabbed Eddie’s face and kissed him. Then they wandered back inside and slumped on the sofa.

‘Are you surprised?’ Eddie asked.

‘I’m really fucking surprised.’ Richie gushed. He put on a Southern accent, ‘I feel like the luckiest bitch at the ball.’ He sat back. ‘When did you have time to get a ring?’

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek. ‘I actually bought it before we left California.’

Richie melted, ‘You did?’

‘Yeah, then I thought that gave me a year to analyse the risks and see if I still thought it was a good idea,’ Eddie joked.

Richie jostled him, ‘Guess I passed the test.’

‘Fuck no,’ Eddie refuted, ‘You failed. Badly. You’re an asshole. I’m just an idiot.’

Richie laughed, ‘You are an idiot.’ He lay down and put his head in Eddie’s lap. ‘Fucking hell. We’re getting married.’

‘We’re getting married.’

‘Wait, did you ask me so that I have to take your name?’ Richie said suddenly. He laughed, ‘Because I’m not gonna be Richie Kaspbrak.’

‘Eddie Tozier,’ Eddie mused. ‘I don’t know.’

Richie snapped his fingers. ‘Maybe we should hyphenate. Kaspbrak-Tozier.’

‘Tozier-Kaspbrak,’ Eddie corrected. ‘Or we could mash them together. Kaspier?’

‘Tozbrak?’ Richie snickered. ‘Wait, we could make it official. Spaghetti. You’d actually be Eddie Spaghetti.’

‘Vetoing that hard,’ Eddie said. ‘Maybe we should just keep our own names.’

Richie screwed up his face, ‘But what if we had kids?’

‘We’re having kids?’ Eddie spluttered.

‘If!’ Richie stressed.

Eddie looked down at him. ‘Then maybe we cross that bridge when we come to it.’

Richie smiled. ‘Okay.’

\---

Eddie paced the room up and down. Panting, Ben and Beverly burst in.

‘What is the big emergency?’ Ben asked. ‘You’re not getting cold feet, are you? So help me God, Eddie.’

‘What?’ Eddie spluttered. ‘No! Jesus. I just need someone to tie my bowtie.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘Richie always does it for me.’

Beverly smiled brightly. Her red hair looked beautiful, pinned up with flower petals. ‘I’ve got it,’ she said. She tied it swiftly, then kissed his cheek.

‘How long do I have?’ Eddie asked.

‘Ten or fifteen minutes,’ Ben approximated. ‘Are you feeling ready?’

Eddie puffed out his cheeks. ‘Yeah, I’m ready. I’m terrified, but I’m ready.’

‘Do you want to head up there?’ Bev asked, the excitement palpable in her voice.

Eddie nodded. ‘Let’s do this.’

Across the building, Richie was looking at himself in the mirror. Behind him, Bill was adjusting Mike’s pocket square. There was a knock at the door. Mike opened it.

‘Hello, Richie.’

Richie spun around. He didn’t say a word, only gawped, a lump rising in his throat. Mike and Bill shuffled out of the room and closed the door on Richie and Wentworth Tozier.

‘What are you doing here?’ Richie asked hurriedly.

Went slowly moved towards Richie. There was a tremor in the ends of his arthritic hands, cavernous lines at the corner of his eyes. His teeth were still all but flawless. ‘It’s your wedding. I’m not going to miss my son’s wedding.’

Richie swallowed. ‘Who invited you?’

Wentworth sat himself down on a bench. ‘Your fiancé.’ He pursed his lips. ‘When you came to see me in Derry a couple of years ago, I wasn’t able to listen to what you were trying to tell me. It was what Maggie had been telling me for years before she passed. And I didn’t want to believe it. I’m a religious man. I’m set in my ways.’

Richie felt like he could vomit.

‘And Eddie,’ Went chuckled, ‘Well, he wasn’t too happy about it. He gave me some stern words. And he told me he was going to marry you. It wasn’t until he said that,’ he sighed, ‘that I realised I might have to readjust a few of my expectations.’

Richie narrowed his eyes. ‘Okay.’

Went shook his head. ‘I don’t claim to understand. Me and your mom, we always struggled to connect with you. But despite what you might think, I do love you. We only wanted what’s best for you. And maybe we were wrong about what we thought was best.’ 

Richie started to cry, stoically, hands clenched in fists.

‘I called Eddie a few months ago. I told him that I wanted to be here, and he said that I could come if I told you I was sorry. And I am,’ he blinked away the tears in his milky eyes and hauled himself to his feet once more. ‘I know that doesn’t make up for my mistakes, but I do want to be a part of your life for as long as the rest of mine lasts.’

Richie hesitated, then went to his father and hugged him. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

Went patted Richie’s back. ‘If Eddie loves you the way you deserve to be loved, and you love him, then I love you both and I hope that you’ll be happy.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’ Richie whispered.

Bill knocked on the door and poked his head around. ‘Richie, are you ready?’

Richie wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and turned back to the mirror. ‘Jesus, I look like total shit.’

‘You always look like shit,’ Bill said.

‘Point taken.’ Richie agreed. He adjusted the shoulders of his suit. ‘Okay, I’m ready.’

‘Good luck, son,’ Wentworth offered.

‘Bill, can you show my dad to his seat?’

‘Sure, Richie,’ Bill said.

‘You’re not William Denbrough?’ Went gasped, walking out of the room with Bill on his arm. ‘All grown up.’

Mike raised his eyebrows at Richie. ‘Let’s go.’

Richie had insisted that he get the bride’s treatment. Before him, Ben and Beverly had walked, then Bill and Audra, then Mike and Patricia Uris. Cal was Eddie’s best man. Carol was Richie’s maid of honour, mostly chosen because she was an excellent party planner.

As requested, the congregation stood at his entrance and the music started to play. He’d planned a comedic walk down the aisle, but his heart stopped as soon as he saw Eddie waiting at the other end. It felt like the world fell away when Eddie beamed at him.

‘Ugh,’ Richie said when he reached the altar. ‘You always look better than me in a tux. Should have worn the white dress.’

‘I think you could have pulled it off,’ Eddie said.

‘This is it, Eds. You and me.’ Richie grinned.

‘You and me.’

The ceremony was short and sweet. They wrote their own vows. They signed the register and exchanged rings. The officiant declared, ‘I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss,’ she laughed, ‘the bride.’

Everyone laughed and clapped as Eddie planted a kiss firmly on Richie’s lips. They started to walk back down the aisle together.

‘God, do we have to walk so slowly?’ Richie asked.

‘I’m making the most of it,’ Eddie rebuffed.

‘Why? It’s not like it’s your first wedding. I’m surprised you didn’t ask Myra to give you away; she’s the spit of your mom.’

Eddie elbowed him, ‘You’re such an asshole.’

Richie kissed his cheek. ‘I’m so happy, Eds. I love you.’

‘You know, I never get tired of hearing that.’ Eddie said, chuckling.

‘Say it back,’ Richie insisted.

‘I love you too, Richie.’

He smirked at him, ‘Loser.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading everyone! That's a wrap.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fanfic so all feedback is super appreciated!


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